Come What May
by ConcreteHole
Summary: Boromir/OC Book Verse. Not A Line By Line Retelling Of Events, Love At First Sight, Or Xena Warrior Princess/Class Clown/Girl Who Knows The Future Story. Hopefully Tasteful - No Canon Rape Or Canon OCs; Concrit Welcome. An Attempt At Something Different.
1. Chapter 1

**IMPORTANT MESSAGE - PLEASE READ!! **

**Since I have stated already in the story blurb what this story is not, I will tell you what it is.**

**I give a fair warning to all, this is a tenth walker fic, but I (hope) to guarantee you that it is different from any other tenth walkers on this site. I spent several months lurking through the forums, trying my best to take note of all the most hated clichés, and things that you don't see but would like to, and have tried my best to keep that in mind throughout this story. **

**The first point of which I can explain without giving away too much plot, she is **_**not **_**an official member of the Fellowship. There is a genuine reason why she must accompany the Fellowship and attend the council, and there will be a great deal of character growth. She is also a teenager, however, there is also a very important reason for this, again, namely character growth. I, too, generally shudder at these a good deal of the time, however I am doing my best attempt at proving not all 10th walkers are horrible, not all teenagers are bitches, and not all female OC's need to have magical powers, genius brain-power or a sword in their hand to make them strong.**

**I also willingly admit, the first few chapters are nowhere near my favorite to read or write, but they are a necessary evil, so if you care to, skipping to the last chapter written will generally give you a much better feel of this story and it's style. I feel the first few chapters are fairly different from all the ones that will follow, and have done my best in making them believable, and not another *bamf*.**

**Also, concrit is highly welcome. Anything to try and improve my story.**

_**(Chapter Re-Written, 12/08)**_

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Steadily the sun set in the West, the last of its rays glowing unnaturally bright as it fell behind the mountains and gave way to darkness. All around her the scene was distant and unfamiliar, surreal in its utopic beauty; the last remnants of a lost civilization, hidden somewhere in the world.

She turned and sighed, a mixture of exhaustion and trepidation overcoming her, loathed to gaze upon it any longer. Unconsciously she reached and began fingering a large, worn locket that hung heavily around her neck, greatly uncomfortable with its presence. She fumbled clumsily with it, forced to resist the temptation to tear it from its suffocating spot and be rid of the wretched thing. Wearily she clawed at the spot which it covered, trying vainly to remove the taint of it from her skin.

The devastating events of the past few weeks were taking a crippling blow on her mind, draining her to a level beyond her comprehension. All she knew was that she had never felt this exhausted or disorientated in her life, and it was a feeling she would never grow fond of.

She cringed in discomfort, the now omnipresent headache worsening its toll upon her as her mind refused to cease its unrelenting pace. Quickly and unceasingly it surged, a torrential downpour of unfamiliar names and places, as she tried desperately to make sense of it all. Were it not for the dull numbness that had grown to consume her entire being, then no doubt the reality of it all would have struck her to the ground with a deafening force many times already.

She glanced a final time upon the haunting trinket, its very feeling loathsome and vile, before she fell back heavily upon the bed, its softness near swallowing her whole. She shifted awkwardly upon it for the innumerable time that month, unaccustomed to such grand settings nor such extravagant attire.

She quickly glanced down at her appearance, once again filled with awe at the majesty of what adorned her, although it did not ease her feelings of discomfort within it. Breathtakingly beautiful as the gown she wore may have been, no one could deny it was not made with someone of her body or appearance in mind. The dress was intricately woven, impeccably tailored, remarkable to a fault - yet it did not fit her and she did it no justice.

Perhaps if it had been under less terrifying and confusing circumstances, she may have enjoyed it, revelling in the lavishness of it all, however, that was not the case, and she was afraid, feeling nothing more than lost and alone. It took every sliver of inner strength she contained to keep the silent grief from overcoming her.

'_I just want to go home...'_ she thought meekly, her gaze never leaving the ceiling as she waited for a miracle that she knew would not come. _'Please...?'_

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying desperately to hold back the tears that bit unceasingly at them, always threatening to fall.

Uncounted minutes of silence passed as she lay unmoving, startled little when a gentle knock was heard upon her door. It was not unusual for someone to come and check on her several times a night, and she was grateful for it.

The knock came again, this time more insistent.

"Come in," she replied, her voice loud and in stark contrast to the silence that radiated around her.

The door opened slowly, a familiar face in Imladris revealed.

"You have been summoned to speak with Gandalf and Lord Elrond," the elf informed her in a clipped tone. He stood in the doorway watching her, his gaze emotionless. She sat up slowly and watched him, peering through her mass of dark hair that partially obstructed her gaze. After a moment of unchanging silence, she rose in silent agreement.

"Where are we going?" she queried, as they traveled down the well-lit hallways.

"To speak with Gandalf and Lord Elrond," he repeated.

"I meant the house; I've never been through here before," she said curiously, glancing around at the even more unfamiliar surroundings.

"Lord Elrond's meeting chambers, across the gardens."

"Oh. Thank you."

"You are welcome."

* * *

A knock at the door alerted them first to their presence. The old wizard and the Lord of Imladris, once both in the midst of deep and crucial conversation now turned, gazing at the open door way. Within it stood the girl that was the cause of so much heated debate and the new troubles that lurked upon Rivendell's borders.

Erestor quickly presented her, though she hung back shyly. Elrond noted her behaviour quietly, though whether it was the circumstances or simply her nature that was the cause, he was unable to tell.

"Thank you Erestor. I think for now that will be all."

Erestor nodded solemnly and left, the heavy oak door closing sharply behind him. Elrond quickly turned his attention towards the newcomer, gesturing to the young woman.

"Vivienne, would you care to have a seat?"

She looked up suddenly, as if surprised that she had been acknowledged so quickly, and nodded. Shuffling across the large, elaborately decorated room, she perched her small form on the edge of the over-stuffed chair, appearing lost in the intimidating surroundings.

"Now," he began, giving her a reassuring smile. She quickly returned it, settling down slightly as she relaxed, becoming far more comfortable. "As I am sure you are aware, we have called you to discuss your presence here." She nodded slightly, a silent indication of her co-operation and willingness to share. "I assume by now you have realized that the necklace you carry is no mere trinket?" He received yet another silent nod. "Good. I also assume that you continue to have no idea how, or indeed why you were brought here?" She silently shook her head. "I wonder if you would please indulge us once more in explaining exactly _what_ you last remember."

She inhaled deeply and glanced unsurely at the two much older men before proceeding. Her voice shook slightly, her nervousness at the situation clear.

"Like I said, there's not much to tell. I was on a hiking trip with my family; I got separated, wandered off the path, and got lost. I tripped over a root or a stump or something - I'm not sure what - and landed face first in front of this," she gestured to the locket. "I picked it up and started looking at it and felt really... weird... almost like I couldn't breathe, and then everything went black. Next thing I know, I'm here," she finished. "I'm sorry; I wish I could tell you more. I know how important this is. I just don't remember."

Gandalf spoke for the first time. "That is quite alright. There is no good in stumbling around about the past, and apologizing for things that cannot be helped."

"Is there anything else you wish to say?" Elrond questioned, looking directly at her once more.

"Well..." She squirmed uncomfortably. She was berating herself heavily for her childish actions. While she was not usually a nervous person, being in Elrond's presence seemed to make every hair on her body stand on end. She liked him, but she was afraid of him. She would much rather be speaking to the old man across from him alone. At least that way she could manage to get out a sentence without sounding like a terrified two-year-old.

"I know you're trying your best to figure out how I got here, and how to get me home," she said, slowly. "But what about where I come from? I've been here two weeks already, and you said I was unconscious for another week before that, and God knows how long I was in the woods before you found me. The way it stands, I've been gone probably about a month and my family is bound to be freaking out. I have school, a job, a life..." She struggled to find the right words, fully aware of how stupid and petty she must have sounded. "I just want to go home," she finished lamely.

There was nothing else she could say in answer to the situation. She still was not entirely convinced that this wasn't all just a dream. All she received in reply, however, were two glances of sympathy gifted her way - something she seemed to be getting all too many of lately.

"Why am I here?" she questioned bravely, when called into comparison with her usual attitude towards the two formidable characters.

"We are not entirely sure," Elrond answered slowly, choosing his words carefully. "Neither do we know what circumstances brought you here, nor how you should go back."

She felt her heart drop once more, a considerable achievement when it already lay at her feet.

"Do you think I'll ever be able to get home...?"

"There is no way to be sure."

"Well then... do you even know what it is?"

Upon his request she removed the locket and handed it carefully to Elrond who immediately began studying it in silence. Many times had he done the like, and never had her question been answered. She would ask again if she thought it would do any good, but he no longer appeared to even be listening. After a long period of silence in which she continued to shift uncomfortably, she wondered briefly if she should put her reservations aside and repeat her question. She had no need, however, as Elrond finally spoke.

"I have heard the likes of it, if only once before, and many centuries ago." He continued to study the locket long and hard, as if lost in some distant memory. "Yet it fails me how it should come to pass into your land, and into the hands of a child; though it seems that things of great importance and worth have had the odd misfortune of finding their ways to the most unlikely hosts, certainly as of late."

As Elrond spoke both sets of eyes now remained trained on him, studying him hard. While one was filled with confusion, the other held a knowing curiosity.

"Am I to assume then, that I know of what you speak?" Gandalf spoke for the first time.

"Perhaps... Although there is no true way to be certain."

Elrond's face turned to the girl once more, her confusion palpable as she sat in patient silence.

"Then what's going to happen to me...?" she asked quietly, her gaze now resting on the floor as she tried desperately to fight back the tears that once more threatened to overwhelm her eyes. The last thing that she wanted to do was cry in front of strangers. She had done enough of that these past weeks - she refused to do anymore.

Gandalf and Elrond both sighed. They felt tired and overwhelmed by the severity of this new situation that unfolded before them, yet they had no idea of a solution. Enemies were overpowering them from every corner. Sauron's forces were gathering, hell bent on finding and claiming the ring, and this locket, if found and opened by the wrong hands, could destroy them all. If they were right, then Sauron called it into this world, and already knew that it was here. The girl was a vessel; an accident. She was never meant to be here, that much was sure of. The biggest obstacle now to overcome was how to hide them both, and the greatest fear, whether Sauron knew of where it was hidden and lay in wait, biding his time until he could find it.

Though he had long counselled with Galadriel and Celeborn over this matter they were still no closer to an answer. Nonetheless, they could not take the risk of it remaining here. The necklace would have to leave, and she must go with it. There would be no safety here for either, not if the Dark Lord knew they possessed it.

But they had debated on this matter far too long already, and he was weary. Tomorrow they would seek council from the gathered guests, and decide the fate of the One Ring, and perhaps what to do with these two as well.

"We will decide at the council," he finished.

He doubted it would be a bright morrow...

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**A huge thanks to my beta, Gaslight, whom makes this all possible. **

**xoxo**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hi!! Back again. ****i'd just like to (again) say a extra special thanks to my ever incredible Beta Gaslight, who without her wonderful critiques and grammar checks, none of this would be possible! :)**

**Oh, and thank you also to all of those who reviewed (namely Dimari, Darth Obvious, AliciaF, Valinor's Twilight, TavyBeckettFan, Lord Arandur, and Telcontar Rulz ). Thank you for your critiques and suggestions. they have been taken under serious consideration, and have been incredibly helpful and uplifting. :):):) **

**_(Re-written as of Jan 1/09)_**

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It was early morning when the council was summoned, and already the sun was high in the sky. Vivienne, accompanied by Gandalf, was one of the last of the party to arrive, a collection of large, intimidating figures set before her.

Already seated amongst the group were several familiar faces, mostly counsellors of Elrond. Erestor, Glorfindel and a few other high ranking Elves sat surrounding the Lord, a few she has spoken to briefly and had always been pleasant and kind to her. She had little time to study anyone else gathered before she was gently pointed to a vacant spot near Elrond. She noted with relief that Bilbo would be seated to the right of her and was incredibly grateful for it.

He was a strange character, Bilbo, that was to be sure, however, there was also something undeniably warm and welcoming that had drawn Vivienne to him almost immediately. Small and vivacious, he made a truly incredible introductory member of his race. Childlike in size, old in appearance and warm in character, he held an air of wisdom that she looked up too, even though at her own small stature she heavily dwarfed him. It would have been a lie to try and claim that he had been an unwelcome presence at the House of Elrond. In fact, he had quickly become the only truly friendly face in the strange and new place.

Though she was initially extremely intimidated by the new people in whose company she found herself, the beauty and agelessness of those that called themselves Elves astounding her to no end, the hobbit's small stature, over-large feet, and whimsical nature made for a pleasant and welcome change.

"Now, my dear, have a seat next to me," he said, smiling pleasantly and patting the space next to him. Apparently it escaped his attention that that was her destination already, but she appreciated the gesture nonetheless. From her seat she was now able to gain a full look at those gathered there, and stared in awe, not for the first time, at the company that surrounded her.

"Now there we have my old friend Gloin the Dwarf - you'll remember I told you all about him and the others on my adventure with Gandalf," he began, pointing out each member of the council individually. "And next to him would be his son - never quite got a proper introduction unfortunately. And there of course is the Dunadan, Aragorn - you should remember him as well, I introduced the two of you a few days ago." She listened intently as he continued. Up to that point, though she had heard quite a great deal about the Dwarves, she was again surprised at how different they looked from what she imagined. Everything from this world looked so different from what she had imagined, she was unsure what to believe sometimes. "-man from Gondor. Not quite sure of his name either I'm afraid. Looks like a nice enough chap, though - but that's the men of Numenor for you: strong, proud, but pleasant for the most part." At this point she had to listen much more carefully, for her mind had begun to wander on thoughts of home and all the strange places once more. Already she had missed a great deal of information, she was sure. "Son of the Steward I heard someone say, though they won't have much use for that line much longer - not after the Dunadan takes up his throne that is."

"Huh?"

"Hmm?"

"What do you mean?" she asked, keeping her tone hushed, something she noticed she was much more well-equipped at than the little man.

"What do I mean about what?"

"About a Steward and the Dunadan?"

"Well, of course, after Aragorn returns to Gondor, there will be no more need for one. That's all."

"What exactly is a Steward?"

"Well, don't you know?" he asked, looking up at her in surprise.

"Uhh… no?"

Though she would be eternally grateful to Bilbo for all of the help and knowledge he had given her during her time in Rivendell, there still remained many things that she had yet to learn of this strange new place. No matter which way it was looked at, she remained to be a fish out of water. She knew nothing of Elves, or Dwarfs or Hobbits, of the Dunadad or the Numblenor or whatever Bilbo called them, and even less about the daily rituals of life here. Without his help and constant guiding efforts, she would have surely been lost.

"Well, well, my dear, you do come from a strange land indeed if you don't even know what a Steward is! Next you'll be telling me you've never even heard of a King! Well, never mind that, my dear, I won't hold it against you. A Steward is a kind of second-in-command if you will," he began patiently. "He rules in the Kings stead when he is away or unable, or whatever other circumstances exist. They have even be known in some cases such as this, to take over rule after a King is laid in the earth and has no heirs to continue his line. The house of Stewards has ruled more than a thousand years, long since the line of the true Kings was thought to have ended. Quite a nice little shock they'll get when Aragorn shows up at their door and sets them right! What I wouldn't give to be there, just to look at old Denethor's face when they take that crown away! Ha-Ha! What a sight that would be!" he laughed, drawing several queer looks for other council members. "What I wouldn't - Oh! And there comes my nephew now!" he exclaimed, gesturing to the young hobbit making his way forward. "I think I've introduced you two, haven't I? Then again, maybe I haven't… Oh bother, I'm getting far too long in years to be expected to remember all these things. That's why I'm writing it all down in my book, you see. That way I'll be able to get it all down, as I remember it, start to finish, no exceptions."

Her attention faded out slowly as Bilbo set off into yet another one of his unchecked trains of thought. She was by now vaguely listening, but was much more interested in what Bilbo had previously explained. He was right on the first count - he had already introduced her to Frodo and his friends; none to discreetly, she might add. Granted, she wasn't the queen of subtlety, however, even she knew better then to walk up to someone and announce her friend was 'visiting from another world'. But he remained her only friend here, so she was forced to forgive him.

What also had begun to capture her attention was the unknown man. She briefly wondered if what Bilbo had spoken of was true. If it was, then Aragorn's return to the thrown would for all intents and purposes knock him out of his birth rite. Unlike Bilbo, who had been friends with Aragorn for a great number of years and obviously knew of this world a great deal more than she did, she didn't find it at all funny. On the contrary, she actually found it quite sad. He was tall, and extremely handsome, that much she could tell - although attractiveness was something she felt she had to get used too; being surrounded by this much beauty was beginning to overwhelm her. He also wore clothes similar to Aragorn, but far more expensive - richer almost, at least from what she could tell. He was broader than Aragorn, as well, strong and tall - much more so than her. Older, too - early 40s, perhaps? But then again, everyone here was older than her.

Gasping in surprise she quickly dropped her gaze when she realized she had been caught staring. Her eyes burned into the ground as she swore violently in her head, the burning tinge of embarrassment felt clearly creeping up her cheeks. After a more few agonizingly long seconds, she chanced a look back up at him, and sighed with relief to find that his gaze now rested on Frodo and Bilbo.

"Thank God…" she muttered quietly to herself.

The slight ruffling of heavy clothing caught her attention immediately, and she turned her gaze to Elrond. He stood proud and erect, commanding the attention of all at the head of the circle of gathered company.

What a sight they must have made.

He never batted an eye, however, nor did anyone else - save perhaps the stranger, who's gaze continued to flicker between herself and hobbits, his gaze a mixture of wonder and curiosity.

'_At least I'm not the only one just a little bit freaked out by all this,'_ she thought in relief as she bit down on her lip. Her knuckles were white and her face was clenched uncomfortably as the tension mounted ever more heavily. Finally the Council of Elrond had begun.

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Boromir sat stiffly in a large wooden chair, watching with vague interest to the happenings around him. Though he appeared at ease, lounging against the high backing, he was anything but. His back ached, his feet hurt, his head pounded. Every muscle in his body felt on fire, and he doubted it would ease soon. That mattered little, however, because his goal, or at least the first part of it, was now achieved. He had done what many had thought impossible – indeed, what lesser men could never have achieved. He had found Imladris. He had found Elrond.

His keen glance continued to sweep the company now laid before him, studying each face carefully, trying to disconcert their motives, and why they were here. Certainly the Elves of this household would have been here, no doubt, but Dwarves, Men and - Halflings? Now this had been worth his long and arduous journey if for nothing more than to gaze upon such a collection of peoples gathered here. What was of such great importance, and what it had to do with him or each other he did not know; only that he went with questions, and the mighty Elrond bid them here to be answered.

He shifted again on the hard surface, slumping farther down, trying to find a less uncomfortable position - it seemed that he would have no such luck. For more than one hundred and thirty days he had travelled alone on horse-back, even more it seemed without, for almost halfway through his journey had he become unsaddled and left thoroughly and helplessly without a mount. Nonetheless he continued. He had to continue. He was a man on Gondor, a mighty son of the Steward, and the best man left in his once great city. If he could not achieve this seemingly impossible goal, who could? And they looked now to him for answers and for guidance. No, he would not fail. He could not fail.

Once more he studied the Halfling. What strange creatures they were, indeed. For many ages stories had been told in Gondor of this strange race of Men - yet not of Men, more unto children and the Elves were they. Though in no way contenders with the celestial beauty of the immortal race, their pointed ears and merry faces led many to the conclusion of at least some ancient ancestor, those small tokens of heritage the only thing that remained.

This was not the only Halfling to cross his path since his arrival in the yester-morrow. Four he had seen in the company of the old wizard, though much younger than this aged and withered figure that sat hunched before him now. How he came to dwell in the land of Rivendell, or to be held in such a high esteem with such mighty men, he did not know. He doubted that he would likely be told, either.

A strange elf sat there also, garbed as if from a long journey, searching the place with unbridled curiosity. Obviously Boromir was not the only stranger in Imladris. Two Dwarves were seated to his left, also, the younger obviously less than comfortable with being surrounded by so many Elves – a race they had long since deemed their enemies. This was not what surprised him, however. The greater intrigue was the old and wizened one, his long white beard reaching easily to his less than mighty limbs, who sat speaking amicably to an Elf of Elrond's household.

This was turning out to be a strange day after all...

Suddenly all the eyes in the outdoor council chamber flashed to attention. There was no doubting the reason why. Boromir watched as Elrond swept into the room, and seated himself on the largest and most prominent chair, assembled around a small stone table. He showed no inclination of immediately beginning the meeting, and judging by the remaining empty chairs, there were more still to arrive.

Quickly he sat up, his interest piquing for the very first time. Mithrandir the wizard, the old man his brother had often spent days locked away with in study and tutelage had entered. This was not what had garnered his attention, however. Instead his gaze lingered on the wizard's companion. A young girl, not a day over eighteen, he judged, shuffled along nervously at his side, her eyes darting ceaselessly around the room. Though obviously of the race of Men, she was garbed in the garments of the Eldar, and seemed to at least be in an amicable state among them. After a few words from the wizened Hobbit, she smiled brightly and sat down, placed unexpectedly between the Halfling and the Elven Lord. They continued to talk animatedly, the hobbit's voice carrying noticeably louder then hers. He was able to catch a few words, enough to know that he was explaining the council members, and just enough still to realize that she was as ignorant as he of the reason they had been summoned, if not more so.

His manners, born of his high pedigree and painstakingly schooled by strict tutors, fell to the wayside on the sight of Mithrandir's skittish companion, but he could both to try and hide his curious gaze. She was strange, but not unattractive, in her own perplexing way. She was no elf, that much was for certain. No earthly beauty could match that of the immortals. Small in build, she was no match to his own menacing height, either, and frail, though not thin. Her dark hair fell unceremoniously in front of her eyes, and the silver sheen of her dress didn't quite sit flat upon her stomach. He also noted with great annoyance that she had the endlessly irritating habit of gnawing on her lower lip. Her nails soon followed.

Why she was here perplexed him greatly; he could find no reason someone so meagre could be of any use here. How could this summons possibly concern her? Impatience chewed at him as persistently as the girl chewed her lip.

He glanced away, watching as yet another Halfling entered and took a seat on the other side of the first. When he glanced away he discovered with annoyance that the study had quickly become two sided. He found himself the target of the strange girl's vision, though upon its reveal she turned away quickly. A blush rose rapidly to her cheeks as she gazed at the ground in shame.

He rolled his eyes and sighed in exasperation. Elrond was now beginning to rise, and there were far more important things to worry about than the riddle of some strange little girl. He settled back down upon the uncomfortable chair, preparing for a long wait.

He had a feeling it would be long before he found any rest.

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**Sorry if the character description was pretty cheesy. I just couldn't think of any other way to get it in there! Don't worry, I promise, there will be nothing of the like happening again! **


	3. Chapter 3

**Here's chapter 3, and I'd like to say thank you to all whole read, and especially those who reviewed (Lord Arandur, xXSummerXx, Valinor's Twilight, and mollybon- I love you all!! Thank you so much for continuing to review!! :) **

**And again, and as always, an extra special thank you to my lovely Beta Gaslight.**

**I'd just also like to point out to anyone who isn't aware, in the books Boromir is 40 when the Fellowship sets out, and 41 when he dies, so I'll be sticking to the canon as much as possible here. I also have a hard time imaging Sean Bean as playing anyone younger as well!**

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She shifted once more, visibly uncomfortable by the conversation taking place in front of her. Not even in her wildest imagination could she have dreamed of all the possibilities of the universe, and even worse, of all the horrendous things that could come of it. Mind reeling and heart pounding, she forced herself to concentrate once more on breathing.

_'Inhale... Exhale... Inhale... Exhale... Oh God, I can't do this!!'_

Her desperation had officially hit its peak. Though she thought she was at the limit of what she could take a few hours ago, she was now longing for the simplistic bliss born of the ignorance she maintained this morning. She pleaded silently to whoever was listening to send her back home to her old boring life. Home to her little country house, and her hectic suburban family, and most importantly, back to a place where she had never heard of a Dark Lord, Orcs, towers and Mordor. Or better still, to a place where she had never picked up the locket, and been forced to a council of war about that stupid ring.

The thing that scared her the most during this meeting, however, was the fact that throughout this long and terrifying talk of death and destruction, of shadows and of evil, they had yet to even mention her. If all of this was the consequence of a ring, what could happen because of the appearance of a world-shifting locket?

_'Inhale...! Exhale...! Oh, My, God!!'_

How was she ever going to get through this? The fragile confidence she had gained in this place since her arrival here had now ebbed beyond any hope of repair, and had left her feeling small and weak. She was simply too insignificant in a world that seemed much too large and much too vast for her sheltered existence back home. She had gradually come to understand the significance of her presence being there, however, and had come as close as she ever would to being accustomed to the idea of it, yet she couldn't help but feel ignorant and foolish over her naïveté of the situation into which she had been thrown head first.

_'How am I ever going to survive here...?'_

She was ashamed to find that fear and anxiety had now turned once more to self-pity, an emotion that seemed to be running rampant within her as of late. She breathed in deeply once more, trying desperately to push away the feelings of desperation and despair and concentrate instead on the discussion before her, sure that the knowledge she learned here would be of great importance later.

The strange man now stood in front of the council, Boromir of Gondor, Son of the Steward, or so Elrond had introduced him. Apparently Bilbo had been right about that much, though until now neither of them had known why he was here.

He was sent by his father, he explained, after a dream that came once to him, and twice to his brother, leading to his presence before them. He came seeking council from Elrond, wisest and mightiest of all beings that now lived.

As he talked with seeming respect, she couldn't help but notice an unmistakable and tangible air of cockiness that hung about him, likely from his upbringing she had quickly assumed. He was practically a prince where he came from, at least from what she could gather from Bilbo's explanation of him, but she now felt noticeably less sympathetic about the inevitable plight when Aragorn returned to his country and reclaimed the throne.

Though she had yet to formally meet him, there was something that instantly irked her. Maybe it was the fact that he appeared so arrogant and overly assured, but on that matter she wasn't quite sure. In contrast, Aragorn gave off a more likable air, quiet and personable. Though they could be considered nowhere near friends, she had no doubt that if they would have been given a chance to spend any time together, she would have liked him immensely. Unfortunately it seemed that from the gist of the conversation, the ring would have to leave and that Frodo would go with it. She immediately felt terribly bad for him. If the world seemed so horrifying from in here, how would it be out there?

Aragorn would, of course, follow the young hobbit, a fact pointed out to her by Bilbo, who had apparently decided that she needed a running commentary on all subjects raised by the council. Yet she was grateful for much of the information he provided. Her ignorance of the knowledge they took for granted was causing her a great amount of anxiety, and trying to follow the council and Bilbo's commentary was doing little to aleive it.

Her stomach jumped into her throat as she heard her name for the first time since the summons had began. She looked around wild-eyed at the gathering, finding herself now the center of attention. She realized with frantic abandon that she had been so intent on her own thoughts, she had no doubt missed something vital and important. It would not be easily forgotten, either.

"Vivienne," Elrond repeated, giving her a fairly pointed look of annoyance at her apparent lack of attention. "I asked if you would care to explain to the council your situation here. Obviously I can only assume my confidence was misplaced."

He continued to give her a stony look, his eyebrow raised in irritation.

She bowed her head in shame, and could feel yet another betraying blush rising to her cheeks. To make it worse she heard an audible snort of amusement from the other side of the chamber, causing her anger to flare. She looked up, a look of annoyance and rage barely concealed upon her face, and was immediately shocked to find that the majority of the council were now looking at her with understanding sympathy. The lone hold outs were the still slightly agitated Elrond, patience obviously not being one of his many virtues, and the Gondorian who sat smirking at the whole situation. She shot him a pointed look of anger, pleased to see he seemed at least little a taken back by her sudden change, even if only enough to wipe the cold humour from his face. She turned back to Elrond, genuinely contrite.

"Sorry," she muttered meekly, pursing her lips together in shame. He sighed loudly before turning back to the council and beginning once more.

"Perhaps it would be best if I spoke for her, as she is clearly unaccustomed to this situation," he replied sympathetically.

She took this opportunity to shoot one more menacing look at the obnoxiously rude man before turning back, determined to pay full attention from now on, and no longer let her mind wander. She was not afforded much time before someone else spoke up, and not for the first time.

"Well that's all jolly well good for you, Elrond - if you don't mind me speaking my part that is - but I'm not a strong man, nor a sturdy dwarf, or a great elf like you, and while all of you may be accustomed to the pains of hunger, I'm just a simple hobbit, and I've missed my mid-day meal. If it's all the same with you, I think that we should let this grand little meeting of ours out and toddle off to lunch. The Valar only know how long this new lot will take, and I don't think I can last much longer before my stomach starts voicing its own opinion too!"

She glanced down gratefully at the old hobbit, not just because he had saved her from an extremely awkward position, but also because she had also just realized the intensity of her own hunger as well. She nodded her head along agreeably as the rest of the group voiced their own opinions, most of them in favour of Bilbo's position.

After another brief sigh of annoyance, Elrond finally agreed.

"Very well. It seems we have no choice but to... toddle off," Elrond said, with a grudging smile to Bilbo, "and return to council once it is over. It would also perhaps be best to give us all some time to think over all that we have seen and heard. Be back within the hour!" He announced the last part loudest of all, forcing himself to be heard over the din of scraping chairs and merry voices as they headed cheerfully towards the nearest dining hall.

The last thing that Vivienne saw of her prickly host as she was herded out by Bilbo was the tall Elf sitting heavily back in his chair, rubbing his temples in lingering annoyance.

* * *

It was mid-afternoon by the time the council had been completely reassembled, and in the time intervening, moods had shifted dramatically higher. It seemed that sharing a meal together proved to be a much more effective means at reaching a mutual camaraderie then a council of war, and by the time they had re-gathered, everything seemed a great deal calmer as a whole. It was fairly obvious to everyone, Vivienne included, that the severity of the situation involving the ring remained a heavy burden on all their hearts. However, it was sometimes best to push harmful thoughts aside, and think only of a brighter morrow. The brilliant sky and birds singing simply begged for optimism, and it was laid to rest.

The room settled into amicable silence as Elrond again took position at the front of the council, ready to speak.

"I am sure by now that you are all aware of why we are gathered here and the presence of our rather... unusual... guest."

All eyes were now on her.

"To put it shortly, and for any of you who are not fully aware of the details of her situation, Lady Vivienne has come here unlooked for, and is not of our world." He waited patiently for the surprised mutterings and urgent whispers to die down.

_Why did she suddenly feel so much smaller and self-conscious?_

"How she got here we are still not quite sure, but nonetheless here she is, and we can only presume for now here she will have to stay -"

"So what you are telling us is that she simply appeared here, and you have no idea how?" Boromir interrupted, a look of scepticism written plainly across his face.

"Not necessarily," Gandalf answered. "We are fairly certain that it had something to do with that trinket hanging around her neck, though there is no way to be sure. However, since the last thing that she remembers is finding it and then waking up here, the coincidences of it seem to be simply too much to be ignored. Wouldn't you agree?"

If she couldn't help but feel self-conscious before, it was nothing compared to now. She shifted, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the sudden attention, now focused solely on an object far too close to her dress line for comfort.

* * *

Boromir now noted with aggravation that the girl not only had the endlessly annoying habit of chewing her lips, but the same habit also seemed to apply to both her nails, and even more disgustingly, her hair. He watched as she went wide-eyed from all the focused attention, blushing, and spitting the lank strand from her mouth. It continued to hang wet next to her face, but his attention was now on the locket that hung resting on her extremely noticeable breasts. The trinket was fairly unremarkable, at least from his perspective, save perhaps for its age, and he could see no indication of its powerful abilities.

He also caught sight of her hands for the first time - small and fairly delicate, yes, or at least they would have been, had it not been for the calluses from hard labour, and the fingernails that were gnawed down to the quick. This told him at least one thing about her. Whoever she was, and where ever she came from, she was most certainly of a peasant's and toiler's rank. No woman would have ever been caught so vagrant, save perhaps a servant or a vagabond. Nevertheless, however she came here, it was obvious it was by accident. Fate surely would not have picked out someone so destitute and unimportant for such a mighty task, a woman least of all.

His eyes flicked back to Gandalf, who now continued.

"Whatever brought her here, and how she came to be is not of our concern here. Now it turns simply to what to do with her now that she _is _here. Certainly this was no mere accident, and this locket holds something of great importance, that I am sure, yet there are many more unanswered questions that need be asked, though none here will have the answer. The most important of which being does Sauron know she is here, and what will he do to find her?"

There was utter silence around the council, and the air was almost as chilling as it had been before the discussions of the ring - Isildur's Bane.

* * *

"They cannot stay here. That much is known." Elrond's voice brooked no debate.

Vivienne suddenly felt violently cold, though the temperature had not dropped. The drop in her heart, however, was another matter entirely.

"Neither are safe here, and Rivendell does not have the strength to repel Sauron's forces," Elrond continued. "If he is aware of its existence, which we can be sure he is, than he will stop at nothing to get it. It is perhaps even more dangerous to us than the ring because of this fact. While knowledge of the ring still remains hidden to him, there is no doubt that Saruman has already revealed to him the necklace the whereabouts of the necklace. If not for the vigilance of Mithrandir, all would now certainly be lost. It is purely out of luck that we found her first. If the others had been the first to lay their hands upon her, one could only imagine the evils that would now lay upon this land."

By this point Vivienne could barely register what Elrond said, such was the fear that now wrapped around her heart.

"But what use is that locket to him? It's the ring that he wants! To conquer our world, not to find asylum in another!" the old Dwarf Gloin shouted, receiving varying sounds of agreement.

"Maybe," continued Elrond. "Or this locket is not all that it appears to be. The world has changed much, and many things have been long since lost..."

No one dared move, let alone voice the many questions that raced through their minds as Elrond sat in silence, lost in unknown thought. The sky grew darker, yet still no one dared to speak.

"It must leave this place," he repeated. "The Dark Lord will only come and claim it, or send his servants to do it for him. It is beyond my wisdom, the knowledge of this thing. It must travel to the only place still left unstained by his dark hand. Send it to Lothlorien, to Celeborn and Galadriel. They must now decide the fate of this accursed thing."

Dread.

That was the only feeling that swept over her as she fought back the urge to be physically sick.

"She must leave, go to Lothlorien, both will be safely hidden there, if only for a little while..." Elrond continued.

"But how will she get there?" Vivienne had no idea who had spoken. All now seemed strange and distant as her mind reeled, and numbness consumed her.

"I do not know."

_'**That** is his solution? Oh God, please just let me go home!'_

Much to her anguish, she would come to find that her prayers in this strange new world were not soon to be answered...

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you Valinor for reviewing, and my lovely Beta Gaslight, i love you both.**

* * *

Almost a month more passed since the ending of the council and the decision of Elrond - a month of nothing but waiting. As day followed day, Vivienne began to wonder if he had changed his mind, or perhaps forgotten his decision. Of course that was a ridiculous notion. However, even ridiculous notions are easy to believe when spending the days wandering in the peaceful house, secluded and as harmonious with nature as anything Vivienne had ever experienced. She was no stranger to beautiful forests - she'd certainly spent enough time in them - but none of the many camping trips she had been forced to endure since childhood could compare with the serenity of Elrond's Last Homely House, and the woods that surrounded it.

She had initially not understood the meaning behind this name, the Last Homely House. The shelter and security it provided seemed explanation enough, but as she prepared for the daunting prospect of leaving the confines of its safety and seclusion, she understood all too well the logic behind it, and for the first time, was strongly reluctant to depart. She fought this fear, this childish impulse to hide, and had found an intense, renewed focus on tasks like packing for the journey.

"Oh, sorry!" she exclaimed in surprise. In her effort to finish filling her bag, she had bumped back rather hard into a large, rigid body behind her.

She turned around quickly, an apologetic look on her face, to find Boromir to be the owner of said body.

"Perhaps you should watch your step in future," was the only reply she received. It would have been an innocuous enough response – if it were not for the callous tone he used, or the look of annoyance written plain across his face.

"I said I was sorry!" she called after him in earnest, but already he was walking away, his haughty attitude once again in full force.

"Oh why even bloody bother," she muttered to herself, turning back to continue packing her knapsack and rolling her eyes in frustration.

Honestly, what had she done to offend him so?

Not that she could claim to be an entirely innocent party in the matter. Sly remarks had been passed back and forth between the two since their initial introduction several weeks ago, and they were not exactly on the best of terms.

She could very clearly remember one such instance as little as yesterday, in which he had made yet another snidely rude remark. What annoyed her the most about it was how inconspicuous they always seemed. Were it not for the cold, arrogant tone that always seemed to accompany it, she doubted anyone would have noticed it at all.

She was also ashamed to say that she had indeed risen to the occasion, and remarked very rudely back, despite her determination to not stoop to his level. Sometimes he just made it so difficult.

'Just shrug it off, Viv,' she thought ruefully. 'Don't let him get to you, he's not worth it.'

Her mind finally turned back to the daunting task in front of her.

"Ugh!!" she groaned loudly, realizing she would have to once again empty and re-organize her satchel. Luckily, it had come with her when she was accidentally dropped here, and it had lain unused in a corner of her room until now. Elrond had provided them all with quite sufficient gear, however, she would much rather take along this one small reminder of home. Unfortunately, one thing that she had underestimated was the amount of things she would be forced to bring along, and the noticeable size difference between her bag, and the one from Rivendell.

As she continued to pack, the doubt she was feeling began weighing heavier and heavier upon her mind. With so many much more experienced and well travelled people accompanying her, how was she ever going to keep up? She had spent enough time in the woods to not be a complete nuisance on them; however, when matched to their skill, she doubted her own small understanding would carry her very far. The last thing that she wanted to be was yet another burden to them on their already difficult task. She just hoped that she could last.

She gazed longingly at the bag provided by Elrond, agonizing over whether she should put her pride aside and just take that one instead, when she was interrupted once more. This time, though, it was a more than welcome distraction.

"Golly, is that all the stuff you're taking with you?" Sam exclaimed, staring in shock at the jumbled assortment that lay cluttered about her. "And here I was, wondering about how I was going to fit all of this stuff into my bag, and it's near twice the size as yours! I don't envy you, I'll tell you that much!"

Of course that was quite a bit of an overstatement on Sam's part. The hobbit's bags were all about the same size as hers, the only discernible difference being contents. Sam had apparently decided they would need every single type of cooking gear known to hobbits, elves, and men, and had somehow managed to slap it all onto his back in one great go.

"Oy, master Pippin, come and get a good look at this!" he called over to the nearby hobbit, who dutifully bounced over, his packing finished, and was now munching gamely on an apple.

"Well, what do we have here, eh?" he answered in amusement, looking over all the strange and unknown trinkets that lay before his eyes.

"What's this?" he questioned, his voice full of curiosity as he reached down and grabbed an electronic pathfinder.

"It's a GPS," Vivienne replied offhandedly. Her mind was currently preoccupied with the sorting of necessary and unnecessary items. It occurred to her that they would have no idea what it was.

"A what?" Sam asked, pulling it out of his friend's hand and gazing curiously at it.

"A GPS - Global Positioning System," she replied, surprised at their ignorance of the device. "It's used to track wherever you are on the planet so that if you ever get los- Oh shit."

Finally it clicked into her mind how useless all the electronic devices she had safely stashed away in her back for this trip would be.

"But of course that wouldn't actually work, because I'm not actually on my planet!" she replied sarcastically to herself. "God, I'm an idiot sometimes!"

She continued to mentally berate herself for her stupidity as she emptied out her bag of other such now useless hiking gear. At least on the plus side, she would no longer have so much stuff to carry – though a couple of electronic pieces of equipment really didn't take up that much room in the long run.

"Useless... useless... useless..." She counted off the items in her mind, then opened her compass. To her exasperation, she found it spinning wildly out of control. "USELESS!!"

'Because apparently there's no such thing as south, east and west in this place... that or everything of any use is no good here. God I hope they know where they're going,' she thought, as she chucked yet another worthless piece of apparatus aside.

In her frustration, she had yet to notice Merry had now joined their group, and was currently helping Sam and Pippin rifle expertly through her stuff.

Elrond had chosen the official company about a week ago, and getting along with the majority of them had been fairly easy. For the most part all of the participants were amicable and friendly, though some more than others.

She couldn't help but like the hobbits, and even for a brief time had entertained the idea of accepting their invitation to visit the Shire someday. They described it with such longing and nostalgia that she was constantly reminded of her own home.

They were all loud and talkative, but sweet, though Frodo seemed more quiet and withdrawn than the others. Neither had done much talking privately outside of the company of Bilbo, but a mutual camaraderie she hoped was fairly inevitable.

Along with the four hobbits, there was also the younger of the two dwarfs, Gimli. He was kind, if a little boastful at times. Often she had to bite back her laughter as he bragged about the hardiness of his race and their ferocity in battle. It eluded her how such a small race could claimed to have done all the great deeds Gimli so often proclaimed, but it was in her nature to trust, so she took the dwarf at his word.

She had also already received a sound warning from Aragorn about the lesser spoken temper of the Dwarves, and was in no mood to test their wrath. Especially not when her safe passage to Lothlorien was at stake.

Legolas was chosen to go as well – the elf that had brought news to Rivendell. Apparently there were more than one settlement of their race, but had long become estranged. There was no rivalry between the groups, but neither were they close-knit and of one nature.

Aside from Rivendell there was Mirkwood also - Legolas's homeland - as well as Lothlorien, their current destination. She had been told a large group of Elves also inhabited the lands surrounding the Shire, though they were unlike the Elves of Imladris - at least according to Merry, anyways.

Aragorn and Gandalf were part of the company as well, and she was grateful for it. From all the stories that Bilbo had told about both of them, she would feel a lot safer having them around. If those orcs were as bad as everyone claimed, she was in no hurry to meet one, especially defenceless.

Last of the company, and who was also apparently not going with Frodo to the end, was Boromir. She liked the idea of him coming a lot less.

The entire time they had been in Rivendell together, of the few brief times they had spoken, he had been nothing but rude and condescending towards her. She still was unaware of what she had done to incur his wrath so, but she was certain that she had not deserved it.

Maybe it wasn't her in particular, but just women in general. She had noticed that a good many of his snide remarks had been gender based, as was his original protest of her going with them.

"This mission is too dangerous. We may well be walking directly into the hands of the enemy. She's only a child – even if she were old enough to make a reasonable decision, it still matters not. War is no place for a woman!"

Fortunately, Elrond was quick to defend, telling him not only was she not going to Mount Doom, but there was no other choice. Her only chance of safety lay in Lorien; staying here would deliver her directly into the hands of the enemy.

Her train of thought was quickly interrupted by the sound of merry laughter from behind her.

She turned to find the offending hobbits rummaging through the remnants of her personal things, and apparently having a far more joyous time of it than she found rational.

Currently they were studying an article of clothing, trying to decipher what exactly it was.

"It's my lucky toque!" she announced loudly, causing three guilty faces to snap up at hers at once.

She couldn't help but smile at the near comedic expression on all of their faces, as they attempted to look apologetic.

Sam was the only one who managed to pull it off.

"Sorry, miss, we were just curious, that's all," was his quick attempt at a defence. "All this stuff's pretty new to us, you see. We were just trying to figure out what all of it is."

"Umm hmm," she replied, looking at him hard and sceptically. "Because in Middle Earth nobody's ever heard of a hat, huh?" She raised one eyebrow at him, and he quickly looked down, his cheeks turning a deep shade of red, as he tried desperately to stutter out a reply.

"Well... I... I... Umm... Uh... well... you see -"

"Well, you see, we were just trying to figure out exactly what type of cap it is. As we've never seen one quite so... interesting... before."

Her gaze now turned to Merry, who was looking rather proud at his quick response. Out of the corner of her eye, she just managed to catch a glimpse of Sam looking gratefully at him for his intervention. Her gaze flicked back to the item in question one last time, before she finally cracked a grin.

"It is pretty ugly, isn't it?"

They all smiled brightly in return, obviously relieved to not get caught snooping.

"So a... toque... you say?" Merry questioned, giving it another humorous look. "Quite interesting, aren't they Pip?"

"Oh quite, Merry, my friend. A definitely bold choice of colour," he replied.

"And material-"

"And shape-"

"Pattern-"

"Decoration-"

"Ornamentation-"

"Yeah, yeah, I get the point. It's ugly. I get it. Now hand it back over-" she replied, snatching it from their hands as they bantered back and forth between each other. They did that quite a lot, she noticed. It was fairly endearing– as long as you weren't on the receiving end, that is.

Ok, so maybe ugly was a bit of an understatement she admitted, as she studied the old, worn, woolly hat carefully. But it had sentimental value. That had to count for something, right? Plus she had had it since she was ten. Her nana had knitted it for her herself (along with matching mittens which she put to rest years ago). The old pink hat with yellow duckies, and ear flaps with little strings hanging from each side was all she had left of her, and it seemed as of now, all she really had of her last life. At least all she that meant anything, that is.

So big deal, she looked like a dork by wearing it – who was she trying to impress anyways? Although the irony of the situation did make her laugh, even just a little. Even in a world where people wore cloaks and armour, and giant hairy feet for shoes, she was still a loser...

* * *

Boromir watched in disgust at the antics that were unfolding around him. The hobbits – Frodo excluded – were currently enthralled in some strange game with the girl. From what he could tell, it somehow involved trying on the most hideously ugly hat he had ever had the displeasure of seeing, and running around making ridiculously childish faces - laughing absurdly all the while.

A woollen cap, made of a sickly bright shade of pink he had never seen before was the object of their amusement. Decorated with odd yellow shapes, and flaps that partially covered her face, it only served to enhance the absurdity, and all over peasantry of her appearance.

To make it even worse, if he thought her appearance sore and uncouth before, he begged to have simply her apparent lack of manners and etiquette back. Instead, now he was forced to deal with a coarse, uncivilized abomination to her sex. A woman dressing like a man! Not even a proper man – but vulgar, loutish and unrefined.

Apparently she had insisted on travelling in the clothes she had arrived with. If this was the dress of a lady where she came from (though he doubted that in any world anyone could be called a lady with such an obvious lack good lineage), and these were the mannerisms of those who lived there, he most certainly had no inclination to visit that dreadful place.

A dark shirt, of an almost deep grey-blue colour adorned her torso, tightly accentuating her considerable bosom. And her lower body was even worse. A woman in trousers - what next? A shield maiden as well? At least she showed no propensity for any type of warfare thus far. He was sure that even if she attempted it, she would fail miserably. A pair of sturdy muddy boots unlike any he had ever seen completed her desired look of vagabond. He was sure the fact that said breeches were torn alarmingly bad at both knees, and had no signs of any attempt at repair didn't hurt, either.

Moreover, it seemed that she had no modesty whatsoever. Walking in the company of men, her legs bared as such! What kind of disturbing vulgar society did she come from, that would allow a lady to walk around adorned with such a lack of propriety! He was in complete and utter disbelief. He suspected that at least he was not the only one shocked by this manner, though the others did a better job of hiding it.

He turned his head at the sound of laughter beside him, and came face to face with Aragorn. He stood watching the scene unfolding before them with an amused expression.

"You find this humorous?" he queried, utterly stunned.

"Let them have their fun," was Aragorn's reply. "We'll be leaving in a few hours, and I doubt they will have much to smile of then," he finished, more grave, as he turned and walked away.

Boromir nodded solemnly, though he still did not completely agree with Aragorn's reaction.

"Still, there must be better things that they can do with their time then fool around like ignorant and simple-minded fools," he muttered out loud.

It was a trait he had unfortunately become all too familiar with as of late. Three months of travelling alone through unknown territory did little to ease one's heart, and the loneliness had grated upon him like a knife. All too often he had found himself his only source of companionship, and speaking out-loud without the fear of anyone hearing was a habit hard to break.

He was disheartened to see the despondent looks that greeted him, however, when he turned back towards the raucous group. Pippin and the girl were both looking him with identical expressions of hurt on their faces. He cursed sorely in his mind, that his lack of subtlety had caused this.

He felt almost instant remorse for his actions. He was not heartless, and the wounded look on both their faces touched his heart, causing him immense shame. He was a gentleman, and of great lineage, and yet he had caused two innocent – even if foolish – people harm.

But his pride, no matter how much his conscience prodded him, would not allow him to apologize. Instead he merely pointed out the dropped and forgotten hat to the girl – who immediately picked it up and held it close to her chest – turned, and walked away.

He was very much aware of the eyes that followed him, and the tears of doubt that stung in the youngest of them.


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi! A really big thanks to Valinor, Summer, Dimari, Eruanna and Isah for reviewing :D. I love you all for it, so thank you.**

**As per a question, no, there is simply no such thing as Lord Of The Rings, or The Hobbit, or Tolkien or anything. As per my story, Middle Earth is a real, alternate reality, ok? :)**

**For the record, as i have (i think) said, yes, Boromir's going to be kind of jerky, but he wont always be such a dick, lol. Neither will he be a 'flirty teenager' as Isah put it, because that is not his character. I definitely think that he is a well of passion, but lets face it, with his station in life and what we know about him, he would be kind of an arrogant asshole sometimes. I think he would also have a lot easier of a time showing that love for, say his brother and his country than for a woman, so it will not be an easy transition or just another lovey dovey story. Definite romance, but realistic, and sticking with the canon of middle earth. No love struck - i love you - no, i love YOU - no, i love YOU!!'s.**

**And a special thanks to my ever fabulous Beta Gaslight, whom without, this would not be possible! :)**

* * *

It was late morning when the company finally reached Caradhras, and decided to rest for the night. Though they had been moving always under the cover of darkness, stopping only when it became too light to safely continue, they had not travelled nearly as far as would have comforted Boromir. Certainly they would have moved faster if they had all been Men - even Dwarves and Elves - but it was the weariness of the little folks and the girl that slowed their progress endlessly.

Not that he was in a deliberate hurry to reach Mordor. Or, for that matter, to commit such a desperate folly as throwing away such an advantage against the enemy. No, that simply was not his path. His only comfort was the knowledge that at least he would not have to endure the madness that would come when they finally decided to rid the world of Sauron's ring, and their last chance at salvation.

Boromir's quest was now to reach his own home, the great city of Minas Tirith, and rejoin the wars that stretched far beyond the borders of his homeland. His duty was to remain with the fellowship only until he could travel no farther on their path, and then journey on to Gondor - alone if his help had rewarded him no company. He hoped desperately that it would not come to this, however, and that Aragorn would return victoriously by his side.

They could sorely use the rangers strength in battle, and his sword – Anduril, Flame of the West - long since thought lost to the cruel and withered hands of time. He could only imagine the hope renewed when the blade that broke the darkness came gleaming like a star, replenishing the valour of his people. What a mighty day that would be, when the trumpeters took to the horns, rejoicing in their return, and all would take up their call!

_"Behold, the mighty lords of the city have returned. All now, ride forth, to victory, and a new age beginning!"_

And all would know and rejoice, and they would weep as a new dawn arrived, red, with the blood of their enemy, and no more would the people of Gondor know sorrow and grief! Long would they hail the name of Boromir, great lord and captain among men, and all would flock to his banner!

A great day, yes. And for all of history, they would remember.

But as they days wore on, and the nights grew colder, that dream appeared more distant; more remote. The girl had done nothing to mend his qualms, either. In fact, the more time he was forced to accompany her and listen to her incessant ramblings with the rest of the company, the more he was glad she had yet to turn her attention to him. Whether this was deliberate or by pure coincidence he did not know, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

Why did she exasperate his unceasingly, and to no apparent end? Never had any woman caused him so much mental distress throughout his forty years of life, yet this one had given him nothing but for the last fortnight! The sooner she was left far behind in Lorien, all the better.

War was no place for a woman, and mark his words - no good would come of it. She would bring nothing but ill-fortune and dissent along with her. He was sure of it.

But no matter that. He had been given a duty – if not in vow, than in word – to keep her safe until they reached Lorien; and upon his honour, as a Gondorian and a man, his sworn word was law. He would guard her until they reached her destination, and then continue on in his quest. In another week or so, he would have no need to bother with irritating thoughts of her any longer. She would be entrusted to the care of the Elves once more, and he would be far away - onwards back to his land that so desperately needed him.

* * *

"No worries, everyone. Just a few more minutes and we'll all have some nice hot breakfast!" Sam called out to the outspread group. He was now leaning over the smouldering fire, and poking occasionally at the bacon that lay hissing merrily in the pan.

"About time!" Merry replied. "I can't remember the last time we had a good hot meal."

"Not since we left Rivendell, anyways," Frodo answered.

This was the first time since they left on their journey that they had an opportunity for such a thing. Prior to reaching the seclusion of mountains and no longer rested in plain view, Aragorn and Gandalf had warned against drawing such unnecessary attention to their presence there. Finally, after much conversing, they had all deemed the risk as worth the reward.

"Though it seems like even longer!" Gimli called back to the group, far on the other side of the camp.

Everyone in the company was looking forward to the prospect of a hot meal beyond all belief, so long had it been since they had had one. After two weeks of mouldy bread and fruit, even burnt bacon was appealing to all the senses.

The company, Gandalf and Sam excluded, were now busying themselves wandering around the area, collecting dry wood for the fire and talking cheerfully amongst themselves. It seemed the completion of the first step on their long and arduous journey had done much to improve their spirits – something much needed as of late. Vivienne, on the other hand, had remained quiet and withdrawn since they had reached the mountains.

It had now been over fifteen days since they had left Rivendell, and the peaceful haven it had provided. Since then, they had stumbled on wearily, night after night, and it seemed as if their journey would never come to an end.

As they toiled on in the strange and deserted land, uncountable miles passing beneath their feet, the seemingly inescapable landscape had changed little. It wasn't long before their hearts felt almost as heavy as their feet.

And now after over two weeks of arduous trekking, watching as the mountainous countryside continued to roll by, they had finally reached the first milestone upon their journey - the base of the dark and looming cliffs. In theory, this should have been a good thing. However, she could not bring herself to push aside the feelings of doom and fear that had followed her since leaving Rivendell for the desolate wilderness of this ominous place. There was something about it that didn't feel right, and she was finding it difficult to shake that feeling.

"Oh shit!"

She tripped suddenly on a loose rock, letting an involuntary curse fall from her lips. Luckily for her, Aragorn, who had at this point been gathering fallen branches to the right of her was quick to respond, caught her before she managed to cause any serious damage to herself.

"Thanks," she muttered almost inaudibly, her attention not on him but on her twisted ankle.

All the companies' eyes were now on Vivienne as she rubbed the offending limb. They continued to watch as Aragorn offered his arm for support, helping her as she moved to sit on nearest log.

Aragorn moved closer, bending down so that he was positioned directly in front of her. He gently pulled her hand away, carefully examining her injury.

"She will be fine with some rest, which could be said for all of us. I, for one, am weary. We should rest the day and night here. It would be more dangerous now to travel in the dark on dangerous roads then to walk in plain view. Let us sleep now, and continue on in the morning."

Vivienne muttered another grateful thanks as she was helped up by the ranger. Over the course of the journey, she had done a fairly good job at sticking to his side - a suggestion keenly given to her by Bilbo. He was obviously very knowledgeable about Aragorn so she tended to lean towards trusting his better judgment, a belief that would not fail. It had become a very good decision in the long run. It helped her emotions dramatically to know that there was someone so strong and capable close by. Granted, she liked almost everyone else immensely, but if they were attacked by the things called orcs, she'd much rather have Aragorn than anyone else fighting on her side.

Luckily, she had yet to meet one of these dreadful creatures that they talked about with such fear and hate. However, she felt that somehow she would manage to survive the disappointment of visiting Middle Earth and not being hunted by wolf-riding monsters.

"We should still by all rights continue on farther till at least nightfall," Boromir replied. "Then take rest once we've climbed some way up Caradhras. If nothing else it would safer, especially with present company." He looked directly at Vivienne as he said this, and did little to conceal his implication.

"Because that obviously wasn't aimed at me," she muttered sarcastically under her breath, more concerned with taking off her boot with as little pain as possible then with the actual conversation going on around her. Obviously it was loud enough to be heard by him, as she received a swift glare in response.

"My intention," Boromir replied quietly, so that only she could hear, "Was only to take into consideration your own well being - not offend you, little girl."

If she would have been in a more open state of mind, then perhaps she would have seen the gesture for what it was - if not of kindness, then certainly at least of some concern for her comfort and safety. She was too busy convincing herself, however, that absolutely every motivation he had towards her was degrading and cruel. Of course was not that case at all. Though his manners were dreadfully lacking, his motivations remained sound - to get her as easily and as safely to Lorien as possible.

"No," Legolas replied to Boromir's original thought. "This land was once a dwelling to my people, though it now hardly remembers them. We will be safest here tonight. There is a good feeling to this place, as with all remnants of where the Elves once dwelt. We should remain."

"I believe it has been settled then," Gandalf said with a definite tone of finality. "We shall wait here for the remainder of this day and the coming night, and continue on at first light," he finished, ending the conversation with a pointed look.

"I still think it is folly..." Boromir muttered. "Though we can hardly ask the little ones and the girl to carry on any longer."

'The girl'. Apparently that had become her new nickname. At least it was better than 'little girl' that he seemed so fond of using when addressing her directly. She had a few nicknames in mind for him as well, but at least she had the basic courtesy not to use them – no matter how much she wanted to.

She sighed, annoyed and hopelessly exhausted even if she wouldn't admit it. As much as she liked the other members of the company, she just wanted this entire thing to be over. All she wanted was to go home, back to her family, and back to her regular life.

And in the meantime, until she reached Lorien, ignoring Boromir's constant nags and goads seemed like the best thing to do.

_'At least I can push him off a cliff if he really starts to bother me,'_ she thought, glancing up at the gigantic mountains looming about. She snorted amusedly, the mental image clear in her mind. _'And who would really blame me?'_. It was petty, she knew it. Frankly, she didn't really care.

"Vivienne," Aragorn called, now back at the camp, gesturing her over to the fire.

"Coming!" she yelled back, walking disjointedly back to the group. At least her ankle no longer hurt as much.

"You should be more careful next time. We can't carry you all the way to Lorien, little girl," Boromir muttered to her quietly, as she walked by him.

"Thanks, but I think I can take care of myself," she replied back, angrily. "And I don't need you to carry me."

_'God, I hate that man,'_ she thought, as she silently turned and walked away.

* * *

"I never thought bacon could taste this good," Vivienne exclaimed cheerfully, as she bit into the make-shift sandwich.

"Mmmm," Gimli agreed, his mouth full as he took yet another outsized bite, elated for one of the first times since the journey's beginning.

She was sure the hobbits would have said something in reply if they had been listening, but they were currently too intent on shovelling as much food into their mouths as fast as possible to chime in with their own opinions of the matter. As for the rest of the company, they were less preoccupied with food or conversation than with watching the landscape carefully, searching for any sign of danger. Vivienne's eyes flicked around occasionally, following the other's gazes and watching the skies, but could find nothing altogether out of the ordinary. Apparently, neither did they as they soon turned back to the cheery conversation, and the hot meal that was the subject of their debate.

The fire continued to burn merrily just inside the cave that was to serve as their shelter for the night, as everyone sat contently around its entrance. Already they had left their baggage next to the opening, and had unfolded their blankets inside, eager to catch up on some much needed sleep that they had been deprived of for far too long already.

"So how much longer from here to Lorien, anyways?" she questioned Gandalf hopefully, once everything had quietened down.

"Once we pass over the mountains of Caradhras, and past the river, we should be there in no more than a week, if all goes well," the old man replied.

"Really?" she responded, her tone and face elated.

"Really."

"Are you guy's going to stay there for a while, or just keep going on?" she questioned again.

"Perhaps we will rest for a little while. I dare say we have all earned it. However, it would be unwise to take respite for too many days. The longer we are idle in our quest, the greater time we give Sauron's forces to amass."

"So... No?"

He chuckled lightly, and smiled warmly at the young girl.

"No," he mimicked. "But fear not. You will be safe in the mighty land of Lothlorien, under the careful watch of Galadriel and Celeborn. There no harm will befall you, lest all else has failed, and there is nowhere left to hide," he replied. But upon seeing the concern flash into her bright eyes, he soon added, "Though I am sure that it will not come to that. Fate has brought us here for reasons that we are not yet meant to know, and that, my dear, is a comforting thought, would you not say?"

He gave her a reassuring smile once more, and his heart was greatly eased to see the fear and apprehension dissolve from her eyes.

"I guess so... but I still don't see how there could be a plan for me," she answered quietly, looking down doubtfully at the ground.

"Well, it certainly wasn't by accident," he replied unhesitatingly. "And I doubt the Valar have no better things to do with their time than simply drag poor, unsuspecting girls from one world to the next, hmm?" he added, giving her a hard, but not unkind look. "Do not let your mind underestimate your worth. Even the smallest and unlikeliest of things may have a greater purpose in life than it suspects. Look at Frodo. Do you think that he was a likely choice for such a quest? No, of course not. But if life were full of the obvious, then we would have no reason left to wonder, and that would most certainly be a pity, don't you think?"

He looked resoundingly down at her once more, and to Vivienne it appeared that he looked even more wizened then he had before, but wise, and more powerful, as well. Yet again, she felt shy and intimidated in his presence.

"Ask no more questions that we cannot answer, but simply keep your head high, and try to do the best with what you have been gifted. That is the most anyone can do with life, and the only advice I can give you," he finished. "And until then, I suggest you follow my lead and get some well-deserved sleep. I, for one could use it, and have a perplexing feeling that it will be a long night." With a coy smile and a wink, he left his make-shift seat upon the large rock adjacent to hers, and walked nimbly into the roomy cave.

"Goodnight!" he called out to the rest of the group with a wave of his hand, as the others mumbled and nodded in idle acknowledgement.

_'Definitely a long night,'_ she thought to herself, as she slowly got up, and followed the old man into the cave.

"Don't forget your pack, little girl," Boromir called after, gesturing pointedly at her bag.

"Thanks," she replied back sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she swung it over her shoulder, and gave him a swift look of malice.

The only sound that followed her was the spiteful chuckle of his laughter as she sat down heavily on her sleeping bag.

"Yeah, I hope your fat ass freezes in that dinky-ass blanket tonight," she muttered angrily under her breathe. Apparently it was still loud enough to be heard, as Aragorn gave a quiet chuckle in response.

"Goodnight, Vivienne," he replied, as he walked past the entrance of the cave.

"Night," she muttered moodily, as she flung herself down to try and get some sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi!**

**A special thanks to all my reviewers (Summer, Eruanna, Valinor, Isah, Mollybon, TavyBeckett, and Dimari). Thank you so much, I love you all so much for it! It really keeps me going, so thank you! :)**

**And as always, an extra special thanks to my beta Gaslight! I completely adore you! **

* * *

It wasn't long after the majority of the company had fallen asleep that they were re-awakened by an apprehensive Aragorn, and a worried looking Sam.

"Our road is being watched. We cannot wait for morning, we must continue on by nightfall."

The entire group was now quickly snapped out of their grogginess at Aragorn's unwelcome news.

"This is sore tidings, indeed, if what you say is true," Legolas replied, the first member to shrug off the bleariness of sleep, and fully comprehend the gravity of the situation.

"Are you sure, Aragorn? What proof do you have?" Gandalf asked hurriedly, his voice demanding and full of urgency.

"The birds. They were searching the lands around us – I am certain of it."

"Alas... you are right, Legolas, my friend. These are sore tidings indeed, if even now the birds are in league with the enemy. Are you sure they are his?"

"We can be sure of nothing. Sam here may have been right, and they have nothing to do with us, but we cannot take the risk. The times are becoming darker, and they had an ill-favoured look about them. Doubt not – no good will come of them."

All the time they were speaking, Vivienne's eyes darting back and forth between Gandalf and Aragorn as they continued to discuss the new development, confusion creasing her mind.

'_Birds as spies? What the hell are they talking about?'_

It wasn't long before she shrugged off her bewilderment and pushed it aside once more. She'd been here long enough to realize that _anything_ was possible, in this world at least. Questioning every strange name, place, or even thing failed not only to ease her concerns, but inevitably only baffled her even more in the long run.

Her focus returned once more to the gathering in front of her. She was glad to see she wasn't the only one with a befuddled look on her face – the hobbits shared her confusion as well. Obviously in the Shire they had heard of no such things as talking birds either, which gave her some small comfort.

After an apprehensive questioning from Frodo, it was quickly explained that some creatures (birds included) had long since been in the service of the Wizards, and were commanded at their will. Apparently this included spying out lands for unwanted guests, though Gimli was eager to add that they may not even work for Saruman at all, and their presence may simply be a coincidence.

If this had any chance of raising Vivienne's hope, it was quickly dashed by Gandalf's quite talented and unwelcome knack of knocking every piece of wishful thinking down into the dust.

He was fast to point out the fact that they still may very well be in league with other greater evils, or simply have some ill intention of their own altogether. Obviously it had passed over the heads of everyone else in the group that they may simply be just regular birds, flying about and minding their 

own business. No one else even seemed to assume it was a probable possibility, though, and Vivienne had not the courage to bring it up.

"So what do we do now, then?" she questioned, raising her hand timidly, as if in a classroom.

A look of apprehension passed between the eldest of the company and the ranger.

After a moment, Gandalf replied steadily "It seems we have no other choice but to continue on – even if we do fall into his trap."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Pippin asked, his tone confused and fearful.

"I don't think I want to know, Pip-" Merry replied, and after a second thought added, "And I don't think you do, either."

* * *

"So how are we supposed to get up there, exactly?" Vivienne asked sceptically, staring up at the vast mountains that loomed far above them.

"Climb, little girl," Boromir replied sarcastically. "Unless you've learned how to fly."

"Oh, thank you for that!" she bit back scathingly. "Because apparently I couldn't figure that out on my own."

She set her jaws in visible irritation and moved away, stepping ahead to walk with Sam. Boromir's typical mockery, coupled with her lack of sleep and general bad attitude had left her nothing short of thoroughly annoyed. She hoped a change of company might improve her mood considerably, or at least calm her urge to kill something – or, in Boromir's case,some_one_.

"Hi," she said loudly, upon reaching the young hobbit. He was busy preoccupied with Bill, occasionally muttering words of reassurance towards the pony and patting his thick neck. Not noticing her approach, he looked up quickly, startled when he heard himself addressed.

"Oh, hello, miss," Sam answered, turning on his heels to face her, and smiling cheerfully.

"What's up?" she questioned, quickly rephrasing at his expression of confusion. "How are things going, I mean?"

"Oh, just as good as can be expected, I guess," he replied, looking slightly disheartened, but attempting nonetheless to remain positive and cheerful.

"Really looking forward to more bacon, huh?" she questioned, with a slight grin.

His face instantly perked at the thought, though it fell quickly once more.

"Yes, ma'am," he answered. "It was terrible enough before I suppose, but having that good day's rest, and all that food dangled in your face and then ripped away – well, it wasn't a nice thing to do, I'll tell ya 

that much!" he answered, slightly pink in the face from annoyance. She had never seen him so frustrated before and felt immediately bad for the hobbit, even if his simplistic outlook was oddly endearing.

"Then having to carry all this extra wood doesn't help either," he continued. "It isn't as if poor Bill here doesn't have enough to carry already, but to have them go and pack even more on him still!"

"Well, it wasn't my idea. And we're all carrying extra, too," she replied, gesturing to the wood they had all somehow managed to pile onto their backs. "It's just because Boromir had to be a big mouth and a show off, and try to tell us all what to do again," she said bitterly.

"Yes, well, I don't like it, either, ma'am. And if you'll pardon me saying so, ma'am, Mister Boromir's a good man, and he certainly knows more about mountains and bad weather then we do," he claimed, but was still quick to add, "but of course I mean dumb old hobbits like myself, ma'am! I'm sure you've done lots of travelling where you come from, miss, just I've never even been out of the Shire, I haven't – well, up til now anyways. As a matter of fact, none of us have! 'cept Mister Bilbo that is, and most folks find him mighty queer where we come from. Of course they say the same thing about Mister Gandalf as well – think him mighty odd down there, too, but I like him just fine, I do! Right good ol' chap, and can tell one story like you wouldn't believe, miss! Though as my old gaffer used to say, 'Samwise! Now you's had best mind yourself around that old man, he'll bring nothing but trouble with him, you'll see! Look what he did to poor Bilbo! Used to be quite a respectable old hobbit! Never did anything strange or out of the ordinary until he showed up, then one day, boom-"

"SAM!" she exclaimed loudly, finally forcing herself to be heard over his unintelligible ramblings. "I get the point. But I still don't think he should try to act like such a big shot like he always does," she replied. "It just drives me crazy how he always thinks he knows everything all the time, and how he acts like he's so much better than all of us!"

"Yes, well," he muttered looking down, his ears turning a bright shade of red. "Well, do you think it could be because he _does_ know more than us?" he questioned delicately, obviously fearing an irate answer.

"Well, in some stuff, yeah, obviously he does," she replied. "But that still doesn't give him a right to order us around, and act like a little Mr. Know-it-all," she finished resentfully.

"Well, I wouldn't hold it against him personally," he replied. "It's just that that's the way things are where he comes from. He's a real important person there, not like all of us, who just go about as we please! He's a real Lord and all that, used to ordering people around. I wouldn't take it too personally if I was you. Just let it roll off your back like I do. It'll be over soon enough for you, anyways, and we'll be gone and out of your way in no time, miss! You'll see!" he finished eagerly, smiling cheerfully at her.

"Close your eyes, and think of England..." she muttered to herself, snorting amusedly at the thought.

Upon Sam's look of complete confusion, she acquiesced.

"Never mind. I suppose you're right, Sam..."

'_But I still think he's an ass...'_ she thought silently to herself, as she quietly walked away.

* * *

The road over the mountain would be long and hard, and there were immediate concerns among the littlest of the folk. While the Men, Elves and Dwarves made no complaint of the path, the hobbits were already beginning to have difficulties, and the girl was still voicing her reservations. It would take a miracle to get across this stretch of the journey, and Boromir had his doubts whether or not they would all make it in time.

Though they had been climbing steadily upwards for the last few hours or so, it had not been an easy task. Gaining one's footing was becoming gradually more difficult as time progressed, and the slope was becoming much more noticeable to all the fellowship. While Boromir could manage - this hardly being a trying task when called in to comparison with all the rest of his journey from Gondor - he feared for some of the others.

In front of him, the girl exclaimed loudly, stumbling and falling forward once more. Again she was quick to be saved from a calamity, but this time obviously not by someone so welcome.

He moved quickly, snatching her up unhesitantly from behind before yet another opportunity for mishap could arise. However, instead of being grateful towards him like he had expected, a sharp glare and a quick pull from his grip were her immediate reactions.

"I don't need your help," she said, her tongue sharp and cracking like a whip.

Obviously she was resentful for his aid.

"Apparently not, little girl," he replied scathingly, angry that even through his good intentions she continued to insist upon being insufferable.

"Just leave me alone, already."

"Then perhaps next time, I will,"

"Fine!"

'_Foolish, insufferable little girl,' _he thought angrily, watching as she stomped away from him. He may have taken it upon himself as his duty to accompany her safely to Lorien along with the rest of the company, but he was beginning to regret it more and more as time progressed. Was he the only one who found her annoying and ridiculous? And why did it seem as if he was the only one bothered by her inappropriate feminine behaviour?

No matter, he could not be bothered with such frivolous thoughts and actions such as to engage in her childish and petty arguments. He was a grown man, a nobleman no less, and she was merely a child – a bratty one at that. Perhaps it would be best to simply ignore her antics from now on, and not rise to the occasions that she so frequently presented.

He had much more troubling things on his mind, anyhow.

Why did the ring bearer always edge away from his glance? His intents were wholly innocent, yet he was being treated like a common criminal. True, the ring had been on his mind frequently, but not in the manner he was sure Frodo had assumed. He merely thought it folly to throw away such an advantage on the enemy. Was he unlawful for that thought? If only Frodo and the council would see the true way, then perhaps all would not still be lost.

Yet even as he tried to push away all thoughts of the ring, it continued to grate on his mind, along with the madness of the others.

'_They will destroy themselves through this foolishness, and my people will fall into ruin,'_ he thought solemnly, his heart aching ceaselessly at the mere notion.

What he wouldn't do to protect them; to safeguard them from all the troubles and all the perils that fell upon them from every side. Yet the chance of victory was becoming more and more fleeting as the days progressed, and the rest of Middle Earth turned their backs upon them – upon Gondor – the once mighty city, now fallen perhaps beyond all chance of repair.

He glanced one final time up at the looming cliffs above before shrugging off any anxiety and malcontent that he still harboured within his heart. He would return to them soon, and save them from certain doom, no matter the costs. If destroying this thing was the only choice, then no matter how much it damaged him to do so, he would see it done.

That was his oath.


	7. Chapter 7

**Hi! :)**

**No serious author notes again, just a thank you to all reviewers (Valinor's Twilight, TavyBeckettFan, Dimari, Pontenigra, Isah Underhill, The Slate Reaper, JenCarpeDiem, xXSummerXx and Eruanna Earenniel) thank you so much, you all really inspire me to continue writing! :)**

**And as usual, a huge thanks to my ever wonderful Beta and reviewer Gaslight, whom I adore, and without none of this would be possible! :)**

**Anyways, please Review, and enjoy!! **

* * *

The bitter wind swept around them from every side as the day grew darker and the night grew colder. Their journey had progressed little since that morning, though they had travelled long it seemed. As the minutes increased and the temperature dropped, Vivienne soon lost all feeling in her bones.

"It's so cold!" she moaned, pushing against the fort of snow piling endlessly in front of her.

She thought she heard Merry and Pippin muttering sounds of agreement from somewhere to the left of her, but she didn't have the energy, nor the inclination to turn and look.

"We must keep going!" shouted Aragorn from somewhere up ahead.

Whether he was answering her protest, or intuitively knew the desperation of the group's dropping morale, she did not know.

"How much longer can we keep on like this, Aragorn?" Boromir shouted from behind her to the ranger far in front.

It had somehow seemed to become standard protocol for either man to guard the forward and the rear of the group at all times, and no matter how much Vivienne detested Boromir, she was now glad for it. At least she had no fear of falling and being left behind, even if she was sure the son of the steward would be glad to leave her.

"We must out wait the storm!" Aragorn replied.

Vivienne released a whimper of despair, though the sound was lost in the roar of the wind as it careened through the mountains.

"Aragorn, this is no ordinary storm," Legolas stated.

"Of course this is no ordinary storm!" Gimli cried, forcing his voice to be heard. "It's Saruman at work again!"

"No!" Gandalf answered, though it was hard to hear his voice over the wind, so far ahead was he.

"Saruman has not the power to control the very wind. There is something much fouler at work here, something much greater!"

"What do you mean?" Frodo cried. "If it's not Saruman, then who could it be?"

"Caradhras himself!" Gimli growled in rage. "Not without a little help from Sauron either, I'll wager!"

"Hold on now - I thought Caradras was just a mountain?" Sam almost squeaked in surprise.

"Oh, don't let him trick you into thinking he's just a mountain! That's exactly what he wants!" the dwarf replied. "There's a reason they call him Caradhras the cruel!"

"But why would he try to stop us from getting across?" Merry asked.

"What?" Pippin yelled.

It was getting progressively harder to hear each other over the growing storm, no matter how hard they shouted.

"I said, 'why would he try to stop us from getting across'!" Merry repeated, his annoyance not being missed by anyone except the hobbit by his side.

"Oh! Well then, good question!" he answered in an unusually bright tone, despite the whirlwind of snow falling around them.

"Of course it's a good question, Pip! That's why I asked it!" Merry replied sarcastically.

"Well, there's no need to take that tone-" Pippin began, before being cut off by Gandalf.

"Oh, bother; you foolish hobbits! Don't you see! It's work of the enemy!" he yelled angrily. No one among the company doubted the temper flare was directed more towards the circumstances than the unsuspecting hobbits. "Whether he's in line with the Dark Lord or Saruman, it matters not! He is attempting to hinder our crossing! We must not give in! Not until there is no other way that we can pass!"

"So that is your decision, Gandalf? To just continue on in the snow?" Boromir questioned accusingly. "Think of the little ones! This will be the death of them all! Hobbits are already not sturdy enough a race; and what about the girl? She's too frozen to even speak!"

If Boromir wasn't right and Vivienne hadn't fallen so far into possible hypothermia to get another word out, she might have been very angry with him at his implication.

"We cannot continue much farther on tonight!" he finished angrily.

"I agree with Boromir," Aragorn replied. "It has become too dangerous a road."

"And what else do you suggest?" Gandalf replied.

"Continue on a little farther, and then rest for the night! Maybe the weather will look less fearsome in the light of day," was Aragorn's response.

After a moment of silent deliberation, Gandalf consented.

"Very well - but we must get further onto the mountain first!"

A chorus of both groans and cheers followed his decision.

"And then can we eat?" Pippin asked.

"Yes, and then we can eat!" Gandalf mocked.

_'Wooh!'_ Vivienne thought cheerfully for the first time since the snow had begun.

_'Food, food, food, food, food.'_

Pathetic as her mantra was, at least the notion of it kept her moving.

_'Just a little farther... One more step... Come on, girl, haul some ass!'_

* * *

Walking became increasingly difficult as the snow fell thicker around them, and Boromir's concern grew about how much farther their feet would take them. All were struggling now, not just against the wind and snow, but the blistering cold, as well. He feared for how much longer the weaker in the group could manage.

"Legolas, what do you hear?" Aragorn questioned loudly.

The elf had stopped moving and was now gazing into the distance, his concentration fixed upon the search for some unknown object.

"Wolves – in the distance," the elf answered unhesitantly

Quickly Boromir pushed aside what Legolas had construed as the howls of a beast as nothing more than the sound of the wind. No amount of primal hunger could drive any creature so far into the peril of this storm – unless it be on a fool's errand tasked by the hand of man.

"How far?" Aragorn questioned.

"I cannot tell," Legolas replied.

Boromir continued to doubt whether they were near.

The girl suddenly coughed violently in front of him, and he was forced to bite back his tongue and remain silent. The condition of the company was worsening, and he feared for all their health – especially hers. Struggling on a cold mountain top in the middle of an unnaturally dreadful storm was no place for a woman, and no matter how she may have irked him, he wished no harm to befall her. This mountain would soon become the death of her – the death of all the weaker of the group – perhaps even of himself, though he wouldn't soon admit it.

"Aragorn, they must have respite!" Boromir yelled to the ranger. "They will catch their deaths in this storm!"

"It won't be much longer!" Aragorn replied.

_'Let us hope not, or we will be carrying only their bodies back down,'_Boromir thought silently.

How much longer could this weather continue?

There was no doubt in his mind – this was no natural storm.

* * *

By the time the company had finally decided that if they did not stop soon they would collapse, Vivienne had passed beyond all inclination of caring. So frozen were her mind and limbs that the screams from her aching joints had drowned out all other sound in her ears.

If she could take one thing with her from this frozen mountain top, however, it would be a new understanding. Up until this point, the going had been easy – at least in hindsight, that was.

She had sworn to herself continuously that, if by any kind of miracle she survived this, she wouldn't complain about aching feet or bad food ever again – in middle earth or back home. All her thoughts were now centered around survival.

"Can we please stop now?" she begged desperately, too exhausted to feel any shame for it.

"There is a cliff just ahead," Legolas responded. "It will give us the most cover we will find for some while."

She glanced ahead to where Legolas had motioned, and her eyes widened in horror.

'That's what he's talking about?' she asked herself, thoroughly shocked.

His so called 'shelter' was nothing more than a large groove in the mountain, with a large piece of barren rock hanging overhead, giving minimal coverage from the storm.

"Well now, if that's shelter, then two walls and half a roof make a house!" Sam exclaimed, his tone more perturbed than she had ever heard it.

"No better will be found here," Gandalf replied, his tone exasperated. "Unless you would rather continue on in hopes of finding something better?" he questioned sardonically.

"No, this is fine!" Merry quickly answered for the hobbit, patting Sam on the back. "Right, Sam?"

"Right," he replied, looking down dejectedly.

Vivienne couldn't tell whether the sudden reddening of his cheeks was from the cold, or from embarrassment.

* * *

After another minute or two of struggling in the snow, all sat down heavily, not caring about the snow piling underneath them. Again Vivienne pulled the cloak gifted to her by Elrond even tighter around herself – it was warmer than she originally thought, she would give him it much, and though she would have preferred a regular winter jacket much more, she was grateful for it nonetheless.

Silently she continued to thank her grandmother yet again for the silly woolen hat gifted to her so long ago. She may have been good-naturedly ribbed for it by some of the company, but now at least she didn't need to worry about her ears freezing off – unlike the rest of her appendages.

Had she been in the right state of mind, she would have realized the fact that she no longer felt as cold was one of the symptoms of impending hypothermia. Instead, all she could think about was good food, soft beds and warm fires.

'God, I miss Rivendell,' she thought, holding her arms close to her body, and trying desperately to gain some warmth. 'You know what, screw Rivendell,' she added, changing her mind. 'I miss home!'

"How much longer do you think this storm will last?" Frodo questioned Gandalf loudly.

"There is no way to know," he replied gravely. "Though one can only hope it will not hold out much longer."

"Let's hope not, or this will be the death of the little folk," Boromir muttered to himself once more.

Vivienne noted silently that he did that quite a bit. They had spent enough time together over the past few weeks to notice such traits, and his had certainly not failed to catch her attention. Usually, however, she was not close enough to be able to hear his exact sentiments, but now that they were huddled together in such close quarters, the words could not be mistaken.

"I can't even feel my poor toes any longer," Sam muttered, quiet in his despair. This comment could have been directed towards Frodo, but Vivienne wasn't entirely sure.

On the upside of the situation, at least the overhang of the cliff had served to block off some of the wind, and now they were free to be able to speak without having to shout to make themselves heard.

After a long few silence, Boromir suddenly spoke up.

"What say you to lighting a fire now?" he questioned. "It was under your guidance that the wood not be burnt until the choice lay between fire and death," he said, addressing Gandalf. "It now seems as if that choice is blatantly before us. What say all of you?"

Another long period of silence followed, as they contemplated the decision, weighing the risks against the rewards.

"I agree!" Gimli announced loudly, the first to voice his opinion.

The agreements of the hobbits, Legolas, and even Aragorn soon followed. Only Vivienne and Gandalf remained silent.

"Very well," Gandalf acquiesced. "Light the fire if you all feel we must. But in the meantime, I have another that may help warm our frozen bones."

With that he withdrew a small, unremarkable silver flash from within his robes, and presented it to the company.

"Miruvor," he proclaimed to the group, proud and defiant as they continued to stare in a varying mixture of curiosity.

"Miru-what?" Pippin asked, his inquisitiveness at its near peak.

"Miruvor – the drink of the Eldar," Gandalf replied.

"Well that's all very jolly well good and everything, Mister Gandalf, Sir," Sam said. "But how exactly does this help us, if you don't mind me askin', that is."

"Oh, how foolish some hobbits are!" he exclaimed in exasperation. "It is a gift, from Elrond – a mighty gift at that, for this is no mere drink. It is made from the honey of the undying flowers in the gardens of Yavanna!"

Upon seeing their unchanging looks of utter blankness, he continued. "It gives its drinker renewed strength and vitality through all the trials and hardships they may have to endure!"

That, the hobbits understood. Presently, almost all the faces of the company perked up, and the cordial was eagerly passed around. Vivienne was far too drowsy to pay any attention to the conversation around her, however.

The last thing the young girl's mind registered was having the snow brushed off of her, and being lifted gently out of the deep snow drift that had formed by a pair of strong arms.

Within moments, everything was dark.


	8. Chapter 8

**As usual, a special thanks to all my reviews, Isabella, DDEC, Summer, ShadowDmn, HariIzumi, TavyBeckett, Valinor most recently Circe le Fey! Thank you all soooo much, you all really keep me going! I love you all!! :)**

**And also a extra special thanks to my ever wonderful beta gaslight, thank you, I love you!! :):):)**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The snow piled all around them as the storm grew worse, and the elf and dwarf worked fruitlessly to build the fire. The vial of Miruvor was slowly passed around the company, and Boromir watched as each face warmed visibly upon the very first taste of the strange liquid.

His eyes travelled away from the group and back to the efforts of the budding fire, anxious for it to bring warmth to his cold and tired limbs. Night had quickly fallen, and visibility became even more limited than before. He dreaded to know what may have been watching them from beyond their sight, hidden in the shadows and recesses of mighty Caradhras.

Who knows what nameless evil may have been following them? Long had he felt an unknown presence surrounding them, weighing heavily upon his mind; watching them, waiting for its chance to strike. Great evil was this thing - this thing that had been haunting them, encroaching ever closer since their departure from Rivendell. What it was he did not know; only that certain doom would come of it.

"Boromir," he heard a voice call to him.

His attention was quickly snapped back to Caradhras and the cold, and he turned to face the ranger.

The vial was passed wordlessly to him, and he prepared to take a drink. His attention was pulled away, however, at the unusual silence of the group. He brought the flask away from his lips and gazed steadily around the group, willing himself to find the cause of the sudden anxiety in his chest, and the clenching in the pit of his stomach. Something was amiss.

As his gaze focused upon each face one by one, it appeared nothing was out of the ordinary. Within moments he was drawn into the conclusion that it was all merely a trick of his mind.

_'The girl,'_ he realized with a start.

He cursed himself for not noticing sooner as he searched the area desperately with his eyes, his worry growing with each passing second.

Finally his panicked gaze rested upon her small form after what had felt like an eternity. The snow had already begun to pile high around her, almost concealing her completely from view, and were it not for her ill appearance, one would conclude merely that she was sleeping.

Instead of the usual pink flush upon her otherwise pale face, she now appeared pasty and sallow, her skin sickly and sweaty despite the immense cold. His eyes remained trained upon her, studying her closely, becoming completely unmindful for the first time of the dreadful cap, or the outrageously untidy hair, shorn around her shoulders, so highly improper for a woman.

Her eyes lay closed, nearly frozen shut by the ice that hung off her long eyelashes, and she was trembling violently, visible even from his distance. Hugging herself tightly and still in her almost comatose state, her lips, parted and blue from the cold, struggled desperately against the limitations of her body, grasping for every shallow breath she took.

"Aragorn," he called out, rising and making his way rapidly to the young girl, concern etched upon his every feature.

"Curse Elrond and this bloody quest," he seethed under his breath, bending over her and studying her anxiously in even finer detail.

A closer inspection proved to only worsen his greatest fears.

"Did I not tell them this was no place for a woman?" he continued to himself, uncaring whether anyone overheard. "She is too weak. I warned them she would never survive this quest."

"Aragorn!" he called out again angrily, this time even louder.

"Foolish girl," he muttered furiously, but with no true ill-intent towards her. She was not the one too narrow-sighted to see the difficulties her presence here would cause.

"Help me!" he called to the ranger loudly, who was making his way towards them as best he could through the heavy snow.

Boromir gently brushed the snow off of her frozen body, finally taking the opportunity to push the ever-offensive hair off of her face.

She moved slightly upon his touch, moaning quietly as she tried to edge away from him. Aragorn called out her name, studying her in detail from just behind Boromir, the best view he could get of her. Whether she was unconscious or simply unable to respond they did not know, but she remained unresponsive and deaf to their summons all the same.

"Lift her out of the snow," the ranger commanded needlessly.

Boromir had already reached around her small frame, not much bigger than that of a hobbits, and had lifted her gently out of the trench of snow that had formed around her. She whimpered pathetically, drawing herself closer to his warm body as he carried her back to the warmth of the fire.

He had no doubt the wizard had had a hand in its conjuring, for now the once useless wood was ablaze with flame, it's astonishing blue colour not the least of its conspicuous traits.

"She's freezing," he said, as the group watched in varying states of concern.

"Is..." Sam began, his voice weak and small. "Is she...?"

"-She will be fine," Aragorn answered resolutely, leaving no room for argument or interpretation. "She is cold and exhausted, but she will live," he finished. "But we must keep her warm!"

"Boromir," Gandalf said commandingly. "Put her down near the fire!"

Gently Boromir set her down in the bitter white snow and moved away, Aragorn taking his place and examining her carefully.

"She must stay warm," he repeated, looking up at Gandalf. "If we do not get out of this weather and beyond this mountain, I doubt she will live to see Lorien."

"Then it seems as if we have but one choice to make," Gandalf answered, after a long moment of silence. "Continue on to our certain deaths," he continued, "Or find another path."

"What other path could there be?" Boromir questioned incredibly. "It is through your guidance that we are on this accursed mountain, freezing half to death instead of sitting at the warm hearths of Rohan," he continued angrily. "But now you taunt us with an easier path, instead?"

"Hold your tongue, Boromir, Son of Gondor," Aragorn chided heavily. "I know of which path he tells of, and it is a darker road indeed. Darker than anything Caradhras the cruel could conjure against us."

"What is this way of which you speak?" Legolas questioned, rising from his place near the fire.

"Take the Mines of Moria," Gandalf answered, his tone of the utmost severity.

"Moria?" Gimli questioned sharply. "Through the mines of Khazad-dum?"

"Yes," Gandalf replied. "Through the mines."

"But that place is accursed!" Legolas exclaimed, shadow clouding his eyes and heart. "Long has it been abandoned by the Dwarves!"

"Abandoned before, perhaps," Gimli replied, "But not anymore. My cousin Balin reclaimed that place long ago."

"Do not fool them with idle talk," Aragorn said. "If they choose this path, let them not enter into it blindly. No word has come from Moria for many years – even now, the company that set out to reclaim it may be lost."

"But that is not for certain," Gandalf replied. "And it seems as if it may be our only remaining choice."

"Say what you will, but I will not take that path," Boromir said. "Not unless the vote of the rest of the company is against me. What does the Ring-Bearer say? Surely he should have a voice in the matter."

The company turned to Frodo expectantly, patiently waiting in the bitter cold for his answer.

"What say Aragorn on the matter?" Frodo asked unsurely, stricken between fear for the accursed name of Moria, and desperation to shelter themselves from the storm.

"It has been long since I have entered that place," Aragorn replied. "And not soon do I wish to do it again. As Boromir has already said, I will not take that way unless all other votes stand against me, or there is no other choice."

"Well, my vote is to take the chance!" Gimli exclaimed loudly. "My cousin Balin will give us a royal welcome, and finally you will all have a chance to taste the hospitality of the Dwarves!"

"And if I choose to go?" Frodo questioned, ignoring the dwarves outburst.

"Then I will follow you there," Aragorn replied firmly.

* * *

Long into the night they had argued, and the girl's condition had progressed somewhat with the warmth of the fire. They no longer feared of death, but she had yet to regain consciousness. Occasionally Boromir's eyes flicked back to her, checking to ensure she still drew breath.

Her chest continued to rise and fall in the rhythm of easy sleep, and Boromir was appeased. Though he had not chosen her as his preferred company, his honour as a man would not let him allow any harm to befall her. He had sworn an oath to protect, and protect he would – though it seemed leaving her far behind in Lorien could not come soon enough.

"I wish I could fall asleep like that!" Sam exclaimed enviously, watching the sleeping figure.

"And they said hobbits could sleep through a storm!" Merry added humorously. "But it appears as though our friend here has put us all to shame!"

"Except Frodo," Pippin added. "He's about as dead to the world as Lotho Tuckburrow every time someone breaks out a new barrel of beer!"

"Well, that's good for Lotho and Frodo, but I, on the other hand, am so tired I would trade my staff for even a wink of sleep!" Gandalf replied grumpily.

The bitter cold was taking its toll upon all of them, and they all doubted sleep would come easily that night.

"Do you hear something?" Legolas questioned, his gaze turning away towards the mountains as his ears strained towards the sound.

Try as he might, Boromir could not force whatever evils the elf had heard to reveal themselves to him through the heavy winds and snow. The silence of the group remained steadfast as he tried desperately to know what had caused the elf such agitation, when suddenly it fell upon them.

Within moments Boromir was cursing himself, wishing he had never heard the sound at all. Though he had brushed it aside earlier as nothing more than tricks of the wind, there was no mistaking it now.

"Wolves," he cried.

"Wolves?" Frodo exclaimed in fear, having been woken by the wild cry.

The smaller of the company looked around, wide eyed and desperate in their search to find its source, sure that it would all be a trick of the mind and the mountain.

"How did they get so far up here in this kind of weather?" Merry asked, trying desperately to keep his voice from shaking – he prevailed little.

"I have an idea," Gimli growled ferociously, his axe raised and ready to strike.

All of the company had unsheathed their weapons within moments of the first cry, and now the sounds were coming closer and becoming all too frequent. Only the hobbits remained useless, standing by the girl, still fast asleep in her frozen delirium.

"Quick, you hobbits!" Gandalf commanded to the frightened group. "Grab those faggots of wood!" he demanded.

"Good, yes," he replied as they all picked a flaming stick from the smouldering fire. "Now stand back to back! Yes! Just like that! Legolas - arrows at the ready. Gimli, your axe! Aragorn, Boromir, your swords, quickly!" he ordered, one by one to the group.

For the most part, it was completely unnecessary. All the group who remained armed had already positioned themselves, as ready for an attack by the evil creatures as they could be.

"No matter what, don't let them break through. Hobbits, stay close to the girl. As for the rest of us, we must protect them!"

All the while the strangled cries of the hideous creatures fell ever closer around them, and it seemed that their numbers rivalled at least threefold their own.

"What are we going to do?" Pippin exclaimed in horror.

"Fight!" Gandalf cried.

Soon the strongest of the company stood almost back to back in formation, waiting. This was always the hardest part of war, Boromir had found. It was not the enemy he feared. No, it was waiting for the battle that was the worst, wondering when they would strike. This was what tested the hearts of men greater than any battalion of orcs. Waiting for death, and for inevitable doom.

The first sign they had of hideous creatures through the blizzard that hailed all around the group, ever impairing their vision, was the unmistakable twang of an arrow loosed from its bow.

A great body came tumbling forward, dead upon the ground and a feathered arrow protruding from its breast.

"That's one," Aragorn cried, his gaze never leaving the open hills around them.

"But how many more are left?" Boromir replied.

He barely had time to finish speaking when dozens of bodies came hurling out of the snow, launching themselves directly at the company. This time, only a few fell dead to the ground with elvish arrows in their hearts.

They slashed wildly, skilfully, each stroke fatal as more and more came upon them. They were holding out well, considering the circumstances, and for the present, there was no danger to the little ones.

Soon the wolves retreated, crying in anger as two of their captains fell, slain by the hands of only two men.

"They will not go far," the wizard said, his sword still at the ready. "They were no ordinary wolves. Those were of Isengard – sent to hinder our passing even more, no doubt."

Few of the group were surprised by the revelation.

"What say you now, to taking the mines of Moria?"

The silence remained unbroken within the group.

"I fear the road as well," Aragorn spoke in Gandalf's defence. "It has been many years since I have passed through, and I have no inclination to do so again, yet it seems we may have no other choice. Saruman will not let us pass. Let us at least hold another council in the morning. Gandalf will get votes more easily for that place in the light of day."

"Very well," Boromir replied.

The wolves were not through with their assault, however, and within minutes the group had been overtaken again. How the wolves had managed to return in even greater numbers after so many lay slain at their feet was a mystery to all. It was not, however, the skill of Aragorn or the strength of Boromir that beat them back this time, but the magic of Gandalf. Soon fires of every colour lit the sky, and wolves ran screaming, their great coats burning in the night. And with the felling of their leader, they retreated for the final time. All of Legolas' arrows had been spent, and there was a notch in Gimli's blade. Aragorn and Boromir were sore and weary, but between them had slew many.

"Set a watch, two at all times. We cannot risk them returning and finding us unawares," Aragorn commanded as they dragged the bodies of the dead away.

"But they won't try and return again, will they?" Pippin asked, his fear evident in the shaking of his voice.

"There is no way to tell," Aragorn replied. "But it would not surprise me."

Boromir had the feeling that it was going to be a _very_ long night...


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi. :)**

**No real comments on this one except for thank you's to my reviewers - Gaslight, Demetra, Blackmusasabi, Pontenigra, Summer, ShadowDmn, Valinor, DDEC, and Circe le Fey. Thanks you guys! You all keep me going, whether you know it or not! :)**

**And as always, an extra special thanks to my ever wonderful beta Karla! :D**

**Please review and enjoy! :)**

* * *

"So I really slept through the whole thing?" Vivienne questioned, her tone a mixture of humour, surprise, and a hint of embarrassment.

"Yes, Ma'am," Sam replied. "And you're lucky, too! I wouldn't have minded missin' all that, that's for sure!"

"It was really that bad?" she asked, fear evident in her voice.

"Almost as bad as when we were attacked by those riders," Sam replied anxiously. "Except this time we were a lot luckier. Without Mister Aragorn and Mister Boromir they would have eaten us for dinner!"

"Oh come on, I doubt they were that good," she replied, unable to hide the scepticism that laced her voice.

Whether it was denial, or simple naïveté due to the previously sheltered existence of her life, she was truly unable to comprehend the danger and gravity of the situation, and the fear that was felt by all.

"Oh yes, Ma'am! Near brilliant, they were!" Sam replied, his face lighting up as he began to gush. "Of course, Mister Gandalf did some nice ol' pieces of magic an all, and the others helped, but you should have seen the other two! Swishing and slashing! I've never seen anything like it, I'll tell ya that much! I wish my old Gaffer had a seen it! He won't believe me when I tell him, I'll swear to that!"

Apparently hero worship was not something Sam had in short supply.

Vivienne shivered again, this time a little less violently than before, but no matter how hard she tried, she could not manage to shake the cold chill that had settled within her bones.

"We were real worried about you, too! You should have seen Boromir and Aragorn! They were near terrified you wouldn't last the night!"

"Boromir was worried?"

Vivienne couldn't help but raise her eyebrows at Sam's confession. She highly doubted that Boromir gave a damn about what happened to her.

'_He probably just didn't want to deal with the others if he let me die,' _she thought childishly, and almost instantly regretting it.

Even in the back of her mind, jaded towards the man as she was, she did not feel that Boromir was that brutal or malicious; to her, he was just an arrogant ass.

Before she had a chance to respond, she was overcome once more with a violent fit of coughing, and nearly doubled over on the ground where she sat, in her effort to control it.

The nearest of the company looked around, concern evident upon their faces. While she had improved a great deal, it was obvious they still continued to fear for her.

She sat up again slowly, her breathing coming heavily and with great difficulty; her throat felt achingly dry and sore, and her head hurt, not helped by the constant sniffling or terrible headache.

What she wouldn't give for a bottle of aspirin right about now.

Aragorn walked over to her silently, put his hand on her forehead, and gazed at her intently. This was not the first time he had done so since Vivienne had awakened, and as a result she was little disturbed by the ranger's actions or slightly troubled expression. She knew she was sick, but she felt a little better than she had a few hours ago; certainly better than she had last night.

"So, what's up, Doc?" she shot out, as a half-hearted attempt at humour.

She doubted Aragorn would get the joke, but with the way she felt, even feeble attempts at anything meant an improvement. Now more than ever she wanted to be safe and sound back home, curled up in blankets on her big, comfy bed. Little else in the world felt better to her than cocooning herself in a warm bed on a cold day – especially when she felt as dreadful as she did now.

She tried desperately to push aside the thought of hot chicken noodle soup. She had never been a big fan of it before, but it was amazing all the things you realized you had taken advantage of before, when suddenly they were gone. She wished she would have known that a little sooner – it would make every slice of pizza and every can of Coke taste just that much better.

Aragorn gave her a mild look of confusion before deciding to ignore her queer statement completely. Apparently he wasn't in a joking mood.

"How are you feeling?"

"Like shit," she answered.

His stern look gave her clear warning and a definite push of an elaboration.

"Fine," she replied, sighing exhaustedly. "My head hurts, my throat hurts, my nose is burning, I can't breathe – could eat, but the food tastes like sh - awful, so I think I'll pass – I'm tired, cold, sore and homesick. Better?"

"For me, though perhaps not so much for you," he replied, giving her a small, playful smile - a smile that she gladly returned.

"So what's the verdict?"

Aragorn easily ignored her usual, strange speech pattern, and continued to inspect her closely. Vivienne was beginning to feel extremely uncomfortable with someone this close inside her space, and was very consciously aware of the fact that she had not brushed her teeth in quite a while.

"Hey, ever hear of a personal bubble?"

"Hmm?" he questioned, more for her benefit than his, she was sure. It didn't take a genius to figure out how adept he was becoming at ignoring her.

"It seems as if you are improving," he answered after a few more long, uncomfortable moments, finally removing his eyes from their close inspection of her face. "Though I still think it wise that you continue resting. You are nowhere near back to your previous condition."

"Seriously?" she replied, groaning loudly.

She sighed, long and hard before quietly confessing to the ranger "... I just want to go home."

"Get some rest. We will be moving on soon," he replied with a definite finality to his tone; he was allowing her no more room for argument.

Aragorn pulled the cover up even more tightly around her from where she sat laying back against another large snow bank. Most of the company sat leaning against them, they weren't very hard to find – indeed, sometimes it felt as if the entire mountain was one great snow bank.

"Where are we going?" she questioned him tiredly, snuggling up further within the thick sleeping bag.

Again, she was glad it for its comforting warmth and subtle reminder of home, and of real civilization.

"The company has yet to decide," he answered.

"Okay..." she said sleepily, her eyes drooping shut. "Wake me up when we get there, though," she managed to mumble out, before finally succumbing to the call of sleep.

Aragorn chuckled softly before standing up and brushing the snow off of himself. Smiling down at her with good humour, he turned back towards the group that had gathered, still deep in discussion. Their journey was from over, and the biggest decision still remained – where they would go from here.

* * *

"For the last time, we cannot stay on this mountain!" Boromir fumed, his voice rising to nearly a yell. "It will be the death of the little ones!"

"But what other choice do we have? To go through Moria?" Aragorn said angrily.

"If necessary, yes," Gandalf replied. "Whatever evils once lingered there may well have left long ago – there is no proof of them; and what if Gimli is correct and Balin has indeed become the Lord of Moria? Then we will be risking our lives on this mountain for nothing!"

"But there is no proof he succeeded!" Aragorn raged. "Indeed, there is no proof Balin is still even alive!"

Long had members of the company fought about their next path, and no agreement had yet come close to being reached. All were in attendance, some quieter in their opinions than others, save for three of the hobbits and the girl. Sam, Merry and Pippin were busy preparing breakfast and were bothered little by the argument, and the girl was still sound asleep. Boromir noted that although she still looked perched on the brink of death, some colour had returned to her cheeks, and she had managed to stay awake for a few hours this morning. Hopefully they would not be forced to carry her down.

"I still say there is no need to take either path! Let us take the pass of Rohan!" Boromir spoke up for what had felt like the hundredth time on the matter. "Théoden will aid us! The men of Rohan are strong and proud – they do not pay tribute to Sauron, mark my words - no matter what your tainted sources may say!"

Though Gandalf brought word that the horse-lords were aligned with the Dark Lord, Boromir refused to hear any of it. The men of Rohan would not bend so easily – most especially when it was their steeds that were the price. If there was any doubt in Boromir's mind in the veracity of Gandalf's claims, they were immediately dashed when he mentioned the extent of their tribute. The people of Rohan guarded their horses almost as dear as their kin – they would not offer them in service to the Dark Lord, even if their lives paid the forfeit.

"Enough!" Aragorn exclaimed loudly. "We must decide a path before noon! We will not survive another night on Caradhras! The small ones especially! We must choose!"

Silence followed almost immediately, as the company weighed the options in their mind.

"Let the Ring-Bearer decide," Gimli said loudly, puffing at his pipe after some consideration.

"Me?" Frodo questioned, his voice small and timid, surprised at being called upon.

"Why not you? We're here because of the blasted thing you carry – this should be your choice." Gimli replied. "Risk the Mines of Moria, or spend another night here, and freeze to death on this mountain!"

Another long moment of silence followed as Frodo weighed the decision carefully.

Finally he spoke up, "Let us take the Mines. It seems there is little other choice."

Boromir did not miss the gleam of triumph in the old wizard's eyes. He had known him too long not to. Long ago had Mithrandir - or Gandalf as he preferred to be called among the company - come to his city and spoken with his father, rummaging the vast library of the Stewards in search for things unknown.

His brother was fond of him, that he also knew. He spoke highly of him often, much to the malcontent of their father, ashamed at having a wizard's pupil for a son, but Boromir had seen little harm in it. Indeed, with some effort, he could even understand Faramir's appeal for it all. Books and lore had always fascinated his younger brother, and he had always found every opportunity available to revel in them.

Perhaps Boromir himself could have even learned to love it – had not his attentions been forced elsewhere from such a young age. He was the son of Denethor, heir to the Stewardship of Gondor, and forced from birth to understand, and to earn that right. Defending his people was of the highest importance, and he was forced to learn that with it came the highest of prices – the price of blood. And all of his he would spill, to see his people safe and content once more in their city, free to live their lives as they pleased, and not under the constant fear and shadow of the mountain.

"Then it is decided," Gandalf spoke, putting an end to the matter once and for all. "We go through the Mines of Moria."

Few in the company were appeased.

* * *

"Pip, is it just me, or do you have no idea how we're supposed to get down there?" Merry asked, as the company readied themselves to continue on their journey. "I don't know about you, but my legs aren't long enough to walk through that!" he said, motioning to the wall of snow that had piled around their camp in every direction.

The difficulties of the hobbits had thus far gone unnoticed, and for the first time since their decision to leave Caradhras, they were utterly perplexed.

"Perhaps if Gandalf would go first and melt the snow in our path, we might make an easier time of it," Legolas said, gesturing towards to path off the mountain.

"And perhaps if Elves could fly, you could go and bring us the sun!" Gandalf responded grumpily. "If there is wood, I can light a fire, but I cannot burn air!"

"Very well," Boromir replied loudly. "As we say in Gondor, 'when minds fail, strong bodies must make do'. We will clear a path through the snow for the little ones. I will do it – Aragorn as well, if he will help me."

"That I will - you are right. There is no other way," Aragorn replied.

Vivienne sat watching from her place in the snow drift as Boromir and Aragorn began trudging along, pushing against the snow. She highly doubted that it would work, and was fairly sceptical that it would be that simple to get off of the mountain. Even if they did clear a path, she had no idea how she would make it; she might not admit it out loud, but she doubted she would be able to stand, let alone walk more than ten feet with the way she felt.

Within minutes they had pushed a large path through the snow – Aragorn behind, and Boromir in the lead. While Aragorn was taller, easily reaching six and a half overwhelming feet, he was also thinner - more wiry than muscular. Boromir on the other hand, only an inch or two shorter, and still reaching far above her in height, was much more muscular and powerful in his build - both heavily set and strong; soon they were far out of sight as the path curved around the bend of the mountain.

"Well, I'm off!" Legolas exclaimed cheerily after a few minutes silence, a bright smile still on his merry face. Throughout the entire ordeal on this accursed mountain, he was the only one to remain light of heart, and it seemed at times as though all this misery had no effect on him. Vivienne wasn't sure whether this was due to his Elvish nature, or simply his optimistic outlook; he remained unchanged nonetheless.

"And where are you off to, now?" Sam questioned, his hands on his hips and his eyebrows raised, seeming as though he were berating a young child for their foolishness instead of questioning a powerful Elven prince.

"To go see how our big strong men are faring!" he called out, as he easily hopped above the giant pile of snow, and began to run across. "Farewell! I go to find the sun!"

"Is it just me, or do you totally wish you could do that?" Vivienne asked, looking over towards Merry and Pippin.

"Mm-hmm," they both said in unison, nodding vigorously in response.

* * *

Long minutes passed as they continued to sit in silence, watching the blank whiteness – the only thing that surrounded them for miles.

"So, maybe I missed it, but how exactly did they say we're going to get down?" she questioned, turning to the hobbits. She had already spent enough time eyeing the path doubtfully. It was hard enough before – it would be near impossible for her now.

"Likely, we will have to carry you," a deep and annoyingly cheerful voice said from beside her, causing her to jump in surprise.

She turned her head to find that Boromir and Aragorn had returned, covered in snow and weary, but cheerful at their accomplishment.

'_Oh, hell no,' _she thought silently.

She continued to look at Boromir – the owner of the unwelcome merry voice.

There was no way in _hell_ she was going to be carried, especially by that man.

_'No – way – in – **helllll**!'_

* * *

**Oh, and as for summers comments, thank you for checking out my videos, i'm glad you like them! :) and i use windows movie maker. it came installed on my computer, so i dont know if you have to buy it or not. sorry, i wish i could be of more help! but again, thanks for checking them out, and i'm glad you liked them! the king arthur one i think it my favorite! i just think that song has always fitted them so well! :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Hey! **

**No real comments - just a thanks to my reviewers (Gaslight, SSJKarigan, TwiDawnLight, DDEC, kurleyhawk2, Isah, Dementra, Valinor, ShadowDmn, Summer, Miriamne, Saerwen and Circe le Fey).**

**And again, as usual, an extra special thanks to Karla, the best beta a girl could have! :)**

* * *

'_God, my ass hurts,'_ Vivienne silently moaned as she was bounced around unceasingly by the steady trotting of the pony. _'I should have just been carried!'_

For the last six hours she had sat wedged uncomfortably on the small animal after her blatant refusal to be carried off of the mountain. Her only alternative was being crammed between piles of baggage and clinging desperately to poor Bill's back - a decision which she now regretted. Horseback riding had never been something she had been inclined to do as a child, and she now knew why.

If there was any upside to this situation, at least she had no time to think about how dreadful she felt – she was too busy trying not to fall off and die.

"Are we almost there yet?" she asked, coming uncomfortably close to a whine.

She was sore, sick, and exhausted, and thus far she had managed to keep her complaints solely to herself, but her convictions were beginning to wear thin as time dragged on.

"Nearly, but not quite," Aragorn answered from a little ways in front of her.

She managed to subdue her whimper of despair at being the unwelcome news, but she found she had little reason to; to the right of her, the hobbits made little attempt to hide their disappointment or resentment of the situation. She felt bad for them – the company was moving fast upon the road, a pace likely faster than the tired hobbits could easily keep up with, and more than once Vivienne was inclined to offer her seat on the pony. Her only attempt failed. Aragorn quickly shot down her offer, insisting she needed the rest. Just as well; she doubted her ability to walk long distances, and she had a feeling she would be doing enough of that in Moria soon enough.

Ever since they had left the mountain, Gandalf had been leading them ever further downwards into the unknown, and soon their road made another sharp curve around the solid wall of rock. Before them, a great body of water lay stretched out, lying deep within a great cavern that had likely once been home to something much larger.

"It is as I feared," Gandalf announced from somewhere in front. "The river has collapsed – we shall have to go round it."

"And how do you suppose we do that?" Sam questioned crankily, eyeing it ominously.

Apparently this retreat down the mountain was having an ill effect on everyone's mood.

"There is a path. Up there," Gandalf replied, pointing out a narrow and unstable looking road, leading along the side of the cavern. "It is not ideal, especially given circumstances, but it will have to do."

Vivienne was sceptical of this newest predicament. The road had a very unwholesome look about it – but then again, this entire place had an unwholesome look. Most of all, she feared the water. Instead of cool and clean like the other lakes and rivers they had passed on their journey, this was dark and murky, and stank of death; the sooner they were away from here and into the mines the better. Not that she was much happier about that.

While she had never considered herself claustrophobic, this was far from regular circumstances. Despite Gimli's best attempts to make it sound majestic and grand, the fearful reactions of some of the others did not go unnoticed, and she was beginning to have her doubts.

Slowly they moved up the path, and she clung even more desperately to Bill's back as the ground shifted out from under them. Briefly she wondered if she should get off and try to walk, but she knew the answer would be no.

'_There will be time for that soon enough,'_ she mimicked in her head.

She could see from her position on the road that the water was even colder and darker than she once thought, giving off not even the slightest hint of light or reflection.

"Where did that water come from?" she asked aloud.

"From within the Mines," Aragorn replied. "There was once a dam, bridging it off from underneath – obviously something has broken it."

"Hold on -" Vivienne said loudly in surprise. "What do you mean some_thing_? Couldn't it have just broken on its own?"

"Perhaps," Aragorn replied. "But that is unlikely. The dwarves are great craftsmen – their work is not easily undone."

"Then am I the only one who thinks it's stupid to go somewhere where some big ass Orc probably broke in? What if there's more of them around?"

"It was broken long ago – this was not new when last I came. No Orc did this, I assure you that."

"If an Orc didn't do this, than what did?" Sam asked, as the hobbits quickened their pace in desperation to separate themselves from the bleak water.

"I have no idea," Gandalf answered.

"Then how are you sure it wasn't Orcs?" he continued to question.

"Because this is not their work; this was the doing of something much fouler." Upon seeing the looks of fear on the faces of the smallest of the group, Gandalf added, "But I am sure whatever it is, it has long since left this place."

"Am I the only one who doesn't actually believe that?" Pippin asked quietly, to several nods of agreement.

"That's what I thought," he replied, his tone downcast.

"I just want to get out of here," Vivienne said in reply.

'_And the sooner, the better.'_

* * *

After hours of travel, finally she was able to climb off the back of the poor beast and find solid ground. She tested her legs briefly and found, though sore and stiff, she could move around freely without feeling too atrocious. Now all they had to do was wait for was for Gandalf to find the way into the Mines. Unfortunately, it seemed that was easier said than done.

After some mild bickering between the group, it was revealed that the door to the mountain lay hidden, and only a password would open it; a password which was thus far unknown to the old wizard.

As they took seats in front of the dark water, the great entrance behind them, they looked upon the silver lines that traced an intricate pattern upon the heavily hewn doors. Not the slightest hint of an opening was to be seen.

"Can't we just bust them open?" Vivienne asked, aiming her question at no one in particular.

"The craftsmanship of the Dwarves is too strong for that," Gandalf replied, as he remained by the door, thinking intently, many of his spells spent. "Even if we had the time or the tools, it would be of no avail. They would crumble upon themselves before revealing their secret."

"So what do we do now?" Merry questioned.

"Well that's quite obvious, isn't it? We find the password," Gandalf replied.

"But I thought you had to know the password to get in?" Pippin asked.

"Well, of course you do," Gandalf answered. "But that doesn't mean even a fool can't find it if he searches long enough."

"Then maybe we should let Pip have a try," Merry replied quietly, causing Vivienne to snort in laughter.

She turned just in time to see Boromir to shake his head at her, and look away. She wondered at it briefly before remembering the reason behind it.

'_Oh, I forgot,'_ she thought dryly. _'He hates my laugh.'_

While she would concede that, granted, snorting wasn't very ladylike even where she came from, it wasn't something she would change to better suit him.

'_Besides, my mom thinks it's cute,' _she thought, grinning into her hand, attempting to hide her stupid smile from the group.

The foolish, whimsical reflections of home were becoming more frequent as time passed, her surroundings more and more surreal. All she wanted to do was go back to her normal, boring life, before this place became too much and completely got the best of her.

"Maybe the password's on the door," Merry said loudly, watching Gandalf try spell after spell, and failing miserably.

"Don't be foolish," he replied. "No one would be that stupid."

"Maybe we should try 'open sesame'..." she suggested lamely.

Her comment went completely ignored.

'_This cannot be happening,_' she thought glumly. _'First the paths are being watched, then I almost die on that stupid mountain, and now we're stuck outside a giant cave. What more can possibly go wrong?'_

So busy was she caught up in her own thoughts and negativity that she completely missed the shouts of happiness that echoed around her. It was only the unmistakable feel of the ground shuddering beneath her that brought her back to the goings on around her.

"What happened?" she asked aloud, whirling around in surprise.

"The doors are open!" Merry shouted in reply.

"What, really?" she said, only to come face to face with a black looming void. The doors had swung open wide, revealing the secret entrance into Moria.

"Woah..." she gasped in amazement. "No – friggen - way."

* * *

Boromir sat heavily upon the nearest rock, eager for some respite before continuing on. For near half a year he had travelled almost unceasingly, and he was desperate to return to his home; his people were in dire need, and even now he had no knowledge of how they fared. In all his time absent, innumerable things may have changed or been lost. What of the holding of Osgiliath? Of his brother, Faramir - of his father's rule? And what of Gondor itself? Did she struggle on, limping on in her haggard pace, pushing ever forward, and praying for a miracle?

He must return to his people, no matter the cost. An aching back and tired feet meant nothing in the face of the safety of his people - if only others would see the light, and join in the aid. He wished more than ever to be back in fair Minas Tirith, fighting the enemy and meeting it eye to eye, not creeping here like a thief in the night.

After much waiting, at long last Gandalf had unlocked the secret entrance of Moria - and not without the help of the hobbits. At least they had come in handy for a change; he had grown fond of the little folk, that he would willingly admit, but whether they would be anything other than a burden on their journey was another thing entirely.

Without their aiding the old Wizard, they would likely have never found a way into the Mines, and that, at least to his mind, would have been more of a blessing than a curse.

No good would come of this place, of that he was certain - Aragorn shared his fears. They would have taken any other path, if there had been a way, but the old Wizard had left them little choice, using Frodo to fight his battles for him. If the hobbit's mind could be bent so easily by that old man, what would the power of the ring he carried do to him?

Already Boromir felt the power of it, weighing in upon his mind, and now he knew it was that which he had felt on the mountain - no conjuring of Saruman. If a man such as he felt its weight, then the hobbit would surely crumble soon, and who would be left to take up his place?

Only time would tell of such consequences, but for now, an oath he had made, and an oath he would keep; and if the young hobbit did fall prey to its power, then perhaps he could be swayed. Perhaps he could save Gondor yet - but that was not his mission. Now his task was to protect the ring and the bearer, make it safely to Lorien and, from there, home.

He glanced back at the water, waiting for the others to finish collecting their scattered packs and stores. To his side, Aragorn was busy attempting to convince Sam of how foolish a notion it was to try and bring a pony into a mine, though the young hobbit would hear little of it; the sound of Aragorn's stern words of wisdom and Sam's pleas were beginning to grate on his ears. Of all the things that had happened today, all this foolishness was the last thing the company, and particularly he, needed. The sooner they were in the mines, the closer they would be to home.

Growling in frustration at the helplessness that clouded his mind, he picked up a loose rock and threw it violently into the dark water. The lake had been bearing heavily on him since their arrival, and he was glad to have some excuse to injure it. He watched with satisfaction as it plopped heavily in the water a long ways away, sending ripples cascading on its smooth, unpolished surface.

"Boromir, why did you do that?" a stern voice spoke from behind him.

He turned to see Frodo walking closer to the surface of the water, watching it carefully.

"That water has an unwholesome feel about it," the hobbit admonished. "I wish you would not have disturbed it so."

Boromir continued watching the water, ignoring the hobbit completely - and for good reason. While the water had quickly returned to its natural calm state, it retained that smoothness no longer. From a point a little ways away from Boromir's original disturbance, the pool began to slowly ripple once more.

All were silent as Aragorn joined them, and watched the water intently.

While they may have thought it a trick of their tired eyes moments before, it was unmistakable now; something had been disturbed in the water.

"Curse this all," Boromir swore. "Into the mines! Quickly!"

They grabbed the rest of the gear and moved swiftly in behind the remainder of the company, who had moments before begun to venture into its dark depths. Soon they were shrouded in darkness. While the bright moon had illuminated their paths out in the open, it was of little help here.

"Gandalf," Legolas called out.

"Yes, yes, I know, Master Elf - I suppose you will be wanting more of that blasted fire now!" Gandalf answered, from somewhere ahead in the dark.

"If you will grant it!" he replied with cheer.

_'Does nothing faze that blasted race?'_ Boromir thought, highly aggravated.

"Here now," Gandalf replied after a moment, and slowly the tip of his great staff began to glow with an unnatural white light. "That's better."

Boromir was sure that within seconds, Gandalf was biting his tongue.

Instead of a beautiful stone cavern, hand crafted by the peerless tools of the dwarves, they were faced with a sight that would cause even the mightiest heart to quail.

Littered all around them and covered in cobwebs thick as a sailor's net, were the bodies of Gimli's fallen kin, their bones bare and white. Arrows protruded from every part of them, standing out almost as starkly as the dulled armour that still adorned their bodies, and little doubt was there of the cause of their death - fallen, they all had, bravely and magnificently in the midst of battle, and now they lay rotted and forgotten, left alone to bear the ravages of time.

"Orcs!" Gimli cried.

The Dwarf roared in sorrowful agony, as he looked upon the desecrated bodies of his fallen brothers.

"This is no Mine!" Boromir cried, his voice echoing throughout the hellish cavern. "It's a tomb!"

"Everyone out!" Aragorn bellowed needlessly, for already the company were backing quickly out of the makeshift cemetery.

Within moments they all regretted the order, as a new danger encroached upon them, unwelcome, and unlooked for.

"Mister Frodo!" Sam cried in fear, and the young hobbit was ripped away from the company by a force unknown.

With a flash Boromir was upon them, Aragorn at his side, their swords at the ready.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked sharply, as Frodo scrambled back to shore, and Sam clung hopelessly to his own short dagger - one that would have to serve as a sword for its undersized master.

"I don't rightly know, sir!" Sam cried, backing away further into the mine. "One minute we were standing here, the next something tried to grab Mister Frodo! I killed it, I did, or at least I think I did! It went back into the water, sir - over there!" he said quickly, his breath short and his face flustered from anxiety as he pointed out the spot.

"What-" Boromir began, but before he had a chance to finish uttering his question, dozens of distorted, slimy, snake-like tentacles burst from the deep, and drove straight for them.

Frodo was again wrenched away from the group and pulled mercilessly into the icy lake.

"Everyone back into the Mine!" Aragorn roared, unsheathing his sword, and rushing the water.

Boromir followed closely behind as they began hacking relentlessly against the wretched arms.

All around him they flung, every arm severed being replaced by many more. The dirty water splashed cold and wet against him, impairing his sight and causing him to gasp for air. He slashed again and again against this monstrous creature, trying desperately to reach the small hobbit. He could catch no glance of Aragorn, but had no time to wonder at his fate.

This was strange new devilry, of that there was no doubt, and Boromir could not trick himself into believing it was by some unlucky chance that the ring bearer was the target of this creature's wrath. Evil knew evil - and it wanted the ring for itself.

Finally he caught his first glance of both Frodo and Aragorn, the latter fighting desperately to regain his captured friend.

The poor hobbit was tossed around from arm to arm of the ghastly creature that had for the first time chosen to reveal itself completely. Boromir had never seen its like before, and never wished to see again. It appeared to be made up of all arms, save the hideous, malformed, titanic thing one would call a face. In reality, it appeared to be nothing more than a giant, gaping maw with row upon row of cruel, jagged teeth.

With one last great swing of his sword, the small hobbit was flung haphazardly into his arms.

"Aragorn!" he cried out, as the ranger's attention turned to them.

Wordlessly they retreated into the cave, Boromir in the lead, clinging tightly to the wet, childlike creature in his arms, while Aragorn bravely guarded the rear against further assault.

Legolas stood by the open cave entrance, firing arrow after arrow over their heads. Had it not been for the Elves unquestionable aim, all may have been lost.

"Move!" Boromir yelled to the company, the smallest of whom stood fixed in horror.

The girl seemed most affected of all, her eyes wide in terror, her body completely rigid, and her gazed fixed on the terrible sight ahead.

"MOVE!" he bellowed again, shoving her roughly into the Mine, and not stopping to see where she landed. He could live with her complaints, as long as she was alive to give them.

Just as they managed to scramble back into the shelter of the Mines, the sound of the creature tearing mercilessly at the rock reached their ears, and they watched as centuries of labour was ruthlessly destroyed.

Within seconds it was over, and all around them there was darkness once more.

"Oh, poor Bill!" was the only words echoed in the black, as Sam sobbed unashamedly for the loss of his friend. "Out there, all alone! And what about us? What are we supposed to do now?"

"It seems," Gandalf answered, his voice hard and sombre, "that we now have little choice but to continue on, and hope our presence here goes unnoticed."

"This was no mere coincidence," Boromir muttered to himself.

The silence of the caves caused his voice to echo across the great hall, and all in the company heard, and marked his words.

"Evil stalks us. Had we gone through the gap of Rohan, we would not have been sealed into a premature tomb."

* * *

**And yea, I really agree Saerwen - I think that describes them perfectly! Thank you! :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Hey.**

**A big thank you to all of you who took the time to review - Fire Daughter, Dimari, Valinor's Twilight, Saerwen, TwiDawnLight and DDEC.**

**As usual, a huge thanks to my beta Gaslight!**

**One note on this, in case any of you are wondering. The basic plot for this story(aside from the obvious changes) is strictly canoninical, and it was GANDALF who wanted to go into the Mines, and most of the others (particularly Boromir and Aragorn) were strongly opposed; just so you all know! **

* * *

The air was damp and musty in the depths of the mountain, and all around her the darkness pressed in.

Slowly the company moved forward, silent and restless, anxiously listening for any sign of danger. It was amazing how heightened one's senses could become in a situation such as theirs; how every noise echoed eerily across the vast expanse.

_Every shuffle._

_Every breath._

_Every step._

Whether it was the totality of the darkness, or the deafening of the silence that made everything seem so hopeless and terrifying, she did not know; maybe it was neither.

Maybe it was the fear, and the dread of what was to come that caused the cold shiver to settle permanently on her spine.

"Gandalf, where are you leading us?" Frodo asked from somewhere ahead.

Normal circumstances would make it quite difficult to hear the small hobbit's voice, but the cave's overwhelming silence caused all sound to reverberate harshly across the walls.

"Hopefully, to the other side," the Wizard briskly replied.

"That is not what I meant," Frodo said, his tone conveying his prickly mood.

She couldn't really blame him; she would be pissed, too, if she got dragged into a lake by a sea monster and then shoved in here.

"Very well," Gandalf replied, sighing in irritation. "Our path is from the West-door to the Great Hall, and down the Endless Stairs; from there, across Durin's Bridge, and out."

"How long shall it take to get through the Mines?" Frodo continued.

"Four days - maybe more, what with the condition of the company and that we now lack dear Bill to carry much of our burdens," Gandalf replied.

"If you'll pardon me for interrupting, Sir," Sam said loudly. "But once we get out of these Mines, we should be on the other side of the mountains, shouldn't we?" he asked, almost eagerly. "And from there on to Lorien?"

"Well done, Samwise - I had no idea you were so learned as to the lands of Middle Earth," Gandalf replied, his voice deep and praising. His eyes sparkled with obvious humour. "And yes - from there, another day to Lothlorien."

"Well, I -" Sam replied, blushing profusely, and unable to hide the pride that overwhelmed his features, even in the dim light. "I guess you could say I studied Mister Elrond's maps a little bit before we left - you know, just in case it might come in handy. Never can be too prepared, now can you?"

"No - of course not," Gandalf said. "And a good thing, indeed. Who knows - you may just need that extra little bit in the end."

"Yes, sir," Sam said cheerfully, before dropping his tone considerably. "That and a bit of rope! I really do wish I hadn't forgotten that in Rivendell, I do," he spoke hurriedly to Frodo. "I'll be wantin' it before the end, I'll warrant that, Mister Frodo! A good head, a square meal, and a strong piece-a-rope are the three things a hobbit should never be without! Or at least as my old gaffer used to say! I was hopin' I'd never have to prove him right though, I'll tell ya' that much!"

As he began speaking of home, the painful reminder began to show upon his face.

"Oh, bother, Mister Frodo!" he said, sighing in exasperation. "What I wouldn't give to be home in the Shire right about now, tending to my garden, and looking after my gaffer and all that! He's not well, you know - needs me to look after him, he does! Not the young hobbit he used to be! 'Course I'm not the young hobbit I used to be either!" he spoke quickly, his face red from his sudden burst of confessions. "What I wouldn't give for a piece of Miss Goldberry's pie right about now! And one of Tom Bombadil's nice soft beds! Now that's the life, I tell ya, Mister Frodo! That's the life!"

"Yes, Sam, I know," Frodo replied quietly. "I would give just about anything to be back home, and out of these dreadful Mines."

"Oh, now don't be so down, Mister Frodo! This'll all work out, and we'll be home in the Shire soon enough! You'll see! We might even have time to stop off at the Withywindle and see Tom and Miss Goldberry on our way back!"

"I suppose you're right, Sam. Never mind me," Frodo replied.

"Well, alright then - but I still think you shouldn't be worrying as much."

"I know, Sam. I'll try."

"Good - just so we're clear!" Sam said finally.

"Now who says it's time for a little bit of breakfast!" Pippin spoke up loudly. "All that excitement isn't good for a hobbit's digestive system, and all this excitement has gone and made me hungry!"

"What's your excuse the rest of the time then, Pip?" Merry said sarcastically.

"Well now - that was rather uncalled for, don't you think?" Pippin replied indignantly, his hands on his hips huffily.

"Oh, you know what I meant," Merry said.

"No, actually, I do not! Please - explain!" Pippin replied.

They remained oblivious to the mutterings of agreements from the rest of the company, as they began shuffling around, looking for a comfortable place to sit.

"I just think it was rather unnecessary, that's all!" Pippin continued on.

"Hey, guys?" Vivienne asked, plonking down next to them, even more ungraceful than usual, and interrupting their bickering. It was far from unusual, and the whole company had learned to ignore it. They had turned a blind eye to the resentment between her and Boromir after all, and that tension could practically be cut with a knife. Compared to the two of them, bickering between two pint size cousins was a walk in the park. "What the hell is a Goldberry?"

She glared at the hobbits, as Merry and Pippin began laughing, instantly forgetting their friendly quarrel.

"Oh, don't worry, Miss," Sam replied, brushing them aside. "It's a long story, and you probably wouldn't believe it anyways."

"Yeah, probably..." she conceded with a sigh.

Besides, all she wanted to do right now was sleep.  
_  
'One more week, and this is all over,'_ she resigned herself to thinking. _'One more freaking week...'_

* * *

The little ones continued to bicker steadily back and forth through the course of their meal, and there was little else to distract Boromir away from their childish foolishness.

He stared down in irritation and disgust at the plain meal he was once again forced to consume. Stale bread, old water and whatever other odd assortment had survived this long into their journey left much to be desired - especially when called into comparison with the great feasts and wines of mighty Minas Tirith. He could still taste the luxurious meals on the tip of his tongue, no matter how far away from him they now seemed; still he smelt the mouth-watering aromas that drifted daily from the great hall, beckoning him forth from his quarters, and enticing him with their wicked delectability.

He was no stranger to makeshift meals and hard tack. Such tended to be the staple diet of a man in combat, and one considered himself lucky for even that in the midst of battle when respite was not a common occurrence. There were some who even came to find a strange enjoyment from such indelicacies - his brother namely one of them.

What its attraction was Boromir would never understand, and Faramir's odd preference and cheery tolerance of such plain and unsatisfying cuisine continued to mystify him. Faramir spent a great deal more time away from Gondor, hiding away in his trees and forts, than Boromir, who spent his efforts organizing the armies, and facing them eye to eye in combat - not that Faramir was any recluse to war. Boromir was simply never allowed the time to indulge in a ranger's whims. His life for the last few decades had consisted of little more than war; there was no time to wander the forests, patrolling against the enemy. Not when his armies gathered at the base of Gondor, and risked to overthrow his city.

His disappointment was great when he took another bite of the dreaded meal, and all he was left with was the taste of sour rations, decaying more even whilest he chewed.

Still, anything was better than cram.

He looked disdainfully down at the make shift meal.

_'Perhaps not everything...'_

The girl coughed violently once more, and Boromir looked up quickly.

Rather than seeing her tired and sick like he had expected, and indeed as she had been before, instead she was rough housing with the hobbits from her spot on the floor, her fun causing the worsening of her condition.

He watched with satisfaction as she was berated swiftly by Aragorn, before hanging her head in shame. He did not miss, however, the mischievous smile she shot at the hobbits once the ranger had turned his attention elsewhere.

Did the girl have no respect for her betters, or was this simply the ways of her world? Nevertheless, it was getting old, and wearing on his nerves greatly. Any grace he may have given her for her condition was quickly fading, and he found himself wishing for Lothlorien or even treacherous, storm swept Caradhras. There, the girl had been unconscious and tolerable. Undoubtedly, things would be much easier if she decided to simply nap for the rest of the journey. He would gladly carry her if the reward was her silence, something he doubted he would ever know while she was conscious.

She leaned back heavily, her sudden burst of levity seemingly spent, and exhaustion now swept over her features.

_'Very well,'_ he thought bitterly. _'Perhaps now she will come to learn the consequences of her actions.'_

Did she truly believe that she could go around, cavorting like a mad-man and still think to improve her health? Whether she comprehended it fully or not, they were now nearing the most dangerous and trying stretch of their journey, and it was still far from over. No doubt when the fear and darkness truly took hold of her, her carefree demeanour would change greatly.

He briefly wondered what was worse; dealing with a terrified woman, or one that insisted upon acting as a child. She complained many times about it, wondered aloud why he treated - and called her - as such, though the answer was obvious. She was already of marrying age, and yet she continued to act like an infant, newly torn from her mother's breast. It was near insulting to anyone who came into contact with her.

And what if they were attacked by yet another evil whilst on their final stretch to Lorien? He did not expect her to stand and fight. No, she was a woman, and could hardly be asked to show the same courage and virility as a man, but he had hoped she would have had at least enough sense to run when faced by that fell water creature.

Instead, she stood frozen and muted, putting herself and others at risk through her childish, ridiculous fear. She would be the death of one of their number before the end, if she did not learn to show more sense, even if she could not manage to sum up any significant courage.

The others may put up with it, but his patience was wearing thin. He would not play nursemaid to a foolish little girl.

* * *

"I don't see why I can't do it, it's not rocket science - something moves - I yell!" Vivienne argued, getting more frustrated as every second progressed.

"Aragorn, you cannot seriously be considering allowing her to entertain such a foolish notion!" Boromir replied angrily.

The argument had gone on for almost an hour, and still no peaceful resolution was in sight.

"Why, because I'm a woman, I can't use my eyes?"

"No - because you are a foolish little girl who will fall asleep and get our throats cut in our sleep!"

"Go to hell!" she yelled furiously.

Why did he take every opportunity to degrade and humiliate her?

"Learn to watch your tongue when speaking to your elders, little girl! You may get away with your foolish impertinence in your world, but here it will not be so easily forgiven!" Boromir replied, livid.

"And what are you going to do about it? You're not in charge here! Aragorn and Gandalf are, so stop thinking you're King Shit!"

"Enough!" Aragorn yelled, his voice echoing harshly in the large cavern.

Its effect was profound enough to temporarily halt all arguments, as intimidation of the ranger and fear of being heard overtook personal opinions.

"Boromir, since you have so little faith, watch over her yourself, and we will all sleep in peace!"

"Ara-"

"- No," Aragorn continued loudly, cutting Boromir off before he had a chance to argue. "I have had enough of this childish rivalry! Since you can't seem to stop bickering, then perhaps you should do it alone and not leave the rest of us within firing range!"

"But -" Vivienne cut in.

"No!" Aragorn repeated loudly. "No more arguments. You will stand watch - that is what you wanted -" he said, looking pointedly at Vivienne, flicking his gaze to Boromir for a few moments and then back. "And Boromir will keep you company, since he seems so intent on someone with more experience. I doubt he will claim there are any eyes he trusts more than his own! Now set your watch, while the rest of us get some rest!"

She barely had time to open her mouth before he raged once more.

"Now!"

She exhaled loudly, more than a little pissed off. When she'd volunteered to keep watch while the rest of the company got some rest, having to do it with Boromir wasn't part of the equation.

Initially, she'd only felt bad for everyone. While she had the luxury of hitching a ride the whole way down the mountain, and being unconscious through the worst of the antics the night before, they had been going on straight for three days, with very little rest. She didn't mind sitting around, watching for whatever they were so afraid of, but spending time alone with Boromir was not on her to-do list. She could think of about a million things she'd rather do with her time - like jam a pen in her eye.

"Urgh..." she sighed out.

This was not going to end well.

"Help me..." she moaned hopelessly to the hobbits, as they began setting up their blankets.

"Sorry," Merry replied sympathetically as they laid down, obviously exhausted.

She looked around at Boromir, his expression one of unadulterated rage.

_'Definitely not going to end well...'_

She continued to eye him ominously.

"Hey, can someone take away his sword?" she asked worriedly.


	12. Author's Note Please Read

Hi.

First off, a thank you to all of my reviewers - you know who you are, and I adore you for it! :)

Now, to get to the point, something has recently come to my attention. This isn't an angry rant or an 'I got a bad review so I'm going to freak out at all of you over the slightest bit of criticism', because it's not. It simply seems that a few readers are unhappy with the way my story is being set. They find the OC too plain and the lack of romance so far to be deceptive to the labelling of it being a 'romance'. I am very curious to know if others feel the same way - especially since I haven't gotten that vibe from anyone until now.

As for my OC being too 'normal', personally, I see no reason why a regular girl should have any special skills to help the fellowship what so ever - especially since she is not even a PART of the fellowship. They are escorting her to Lothlorien, nothing more. She has no oath like they to destroy the ring, or to fight evil, etc, etc. All she wants to do is try and get home. I think making her character anything more than the outdoorsy type she already is, is unrealistic and too much like every other girl in ME story out there who always saves the day. I pointed out right from the beginning, this was NOT one of those stories.

The way I see it, sometimes there doesn't have to be anything special about a person for something special to happen to them. Look at Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, and even Bilbo. None of them were anything out of the ordinary, yet extraordinary things happened to them. That is sometimes the case, both in literature and reality. Extraordinary things happen to ordinary people, and for no foreseeable reason. Not everyone in the world can be an Elrond, a Gandalf, an Aragorn, or a Boromir. Somebody has to cheer while the heroes go by, right? And I doubt there's anyone more apt for that position than a teenage girl.

I also pointed out even in the title, this is not a love at first sight, gah gah, gooh gooh story. My whole point with this was to make it as realistic as possible, and a person falling in love within the first 5 chapters is not realistic. Perhaps that is why Aragorn and Arwen never felt real to me, and I've always had a problem shipping them.

I wanted this relationship to be built on real, solid ground, and for it to go through trials, and tribulations, and obstacles, just like real love. Anything else is, in my opinion, a total jip. I can think of no **good** story (even a Harlequin, which believe me, I read enough of to know) that has the characters madly in love in the first two thirds. There has to be growth, and acceptance, especially with two so entirely different people.

Anyways, thank you for reading this little note, and please continue on with my story! I appreciate you all SO much! And I promise this story will _not_ go unfinished. I will write this story - beginning to end - if it is the last thing I do, so if I'm a little slow updating, please don't lose faith in me! :)

I am also very eager to hear your opinions on this, so feel free to message me if you have any comments! :)

Thank you,

ConcreteHole


	13. Chapter 12

**Hi.**

**I'd just like to say an unbelievably huge thank you to all who responded to my previous post. I was really afraid that peoples opinions were all falling towards that way, and that I was going to lose readers if I didn't amp it up Mary Sue style. I really do appreciate all your support more than words could possibly describe! Thank you so much, I really do love you all! :)**

**Anyways, just a massive thanks to all who replied, and all of my reviewers - Gaslight, Jen-pongo, ElanorOfNowhere, xXSummerXx, Psycho8, Inferno, TwiDawnLight, Othello101, Miriamne, Dangrgurl7283, The One Called Dementra, Demonic-Dragon-Eyed-Chick, Aoihand, Roranon, SM, RF, SSJKarigan, nameless1010, TavyBeckettFan, Valinor's Twilight, Saerwen, Pontenigra, Dimari and Ieatdwarfs. Thanks guys, I really do love you all! Especially the ones who review every time! :) **

**As usual, an extra special thanks to my ever wonderful and supportive beta, Gaslight.**

**So, enjoy and please don't forget to review!!!!!!! :):):)**

* * *

"I hope you know this is all your fault."

Boromir chose not to reply to the childish statement.

"...and I thought I was supposed to be the child," Vivienne continued grudgingly, when he failed to answer her.

"My duty is to stand watch, not make idle conversation with annoying little girls," Boromir replied, highly irritated.

"Ouch - you use that line on all the girls you meet?"

"Is there a reason you find the need to ramble on incessantly?"

"I don't know - is there a reason you keep calling me a little girl?" she asked angrily.

"Perhaps because you insist on acting like one."

Several moments of silence followed before she uttered a bitter vulgarity in response.

Boromir shot her an angry glance, but chose to ignore it.  
_  
'If she feels the need to act so disgustingly ill-mannered and vile, let her. She is making a fool out of no one but herself,'_ he thought, his foul mood not wavering.

One could only guess at how much time had passed since this horror began, and already Boromir's patience was tried far beyond its means. He only prayed for relief to come soon, or death to come swiftly. Even lying forever in this forsaken tomb was better than spending one more moment with this bratty woman who insisted on acting like a child. The fact that she was a woman was the only thing that had spared her his wrath thus far. His honour would not allow him to cause harm to such a lesser creature, even if it was well deserved.

"What do you think you are doing?" he asked, as her weight shifted from beside him, and she moved towards the now discarded packs.

"I'm making a sandwich."

"Why?"

"...Because I'm hungry...?"

"We ate only hours ago," he replied haughtily.

"Yeah, well, arguing makes me hungry."

He could not find the will to challenge her on even such a trivial matter - or perhaps it was the rumbling of his stomach, agreeing merrily in her statement that caused him to bite his tongue.

"Do you want one?" she asked, and he looked at her in surprise.

He did not expect her to be so welcoming, especially since they had done little but bicker since the watch began.

"You are willing to cook for me?" he replied skeptically.

"Yeah, sure. I'm not too sure if there's anything you'd like, though. I think we're fresh out of crab, bologny and bullshit."

Why did he get the distinct impression he should have seen the childish sarcasm coming.

He watched silently as she sat back down heavily at his side, gave him a scathing look and took a large, unladylike bite of her newly acquired meal.

"What?"

He shook his head in irritation and turned away.

"Hey, you want one, get it yourself. I'm not your maid," she bit out, glaring in contempt at him. "Even if I am only a foolish woman," she mimicked sorely.

"I would use that term loosely if I were you, little girl."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"That the urchin children on the streets of Gondor are old in their wisdom next to your childish foolery."

"And a crazy hobo is nicer than you!"

"Obstinate brat," he replied viciously, no longer caring to control his anger.

"Obstinate brat?!" she said angrily, tossing her makeshift meal onto a nearby pack, and rising quickly. "And you're just as sweet as candy, huh?"

"I would watch how you speak to your betters, girl."

"What the hell is your problem?!"

"I thought that would be obvious - little girl."

"No, seriously. What the _hell_ is your problem?" she asked him angrily. "It's not cute, it's not funny, it's not smart, so why do you keep on doing it?"

"Doing what, may I ask?" he replied, highly exasperated at her ignorance and insolence.

"I don't know, maybe going out of your way to make my life miserable! Seriously- what did I ever do to you?"

"Do not try to act the innocent victim here, girl," he replied angrily.

"And don't you try to either! You've been on me non-stop since Rivendell, and you've never even once given me a reason why! Am I that repulsive that it's loathe at first sight, or are you just that big of an ass?" she asked furiously, her voice raising considerably.

Boromir never thought to warn her to keep her voice down - not just for those sleeping soundly nearby, but for whatever might be watching them in the darkness. It seemed his temper was getting the better of his mind.

"Need I remind you once again to hold your tongue in the presence of your betters!" Boromir raged, rising to meet her and dwarfing the small woman considerably.

"Yeah, sure," she replied bitterly, turning to walk away. "Just tell me when you see them."

"Do you want to know why I cannot stand your presence?" he said harshly, grabbing her arm roughly and pulling her back towards him, his voice low and dangerous. "Because you are a bratty little girl, who does nothing more than whine and complain, and burden us down every chance she gets. You care for no one but yourself, and manipulate everyone around you, pretending to be their friend. You are insufferable and foolish, and no better than the women of any court."

A few moments passed in tense silence as his words sank in, long seconds passing before the slap rang out harshly and suddenly, echoing dauntingly across the walls.

The sudden force of it caused Boromir to release her arm, through surprise if not actual pain.

"How dare you," she seethed, not bothering to conceal her obvious abhorrence towards him. "How _dare_ you pretend to know me - to know anything about me! And who the hell are you to judge? I may be an insufferable little girl, but that's better than being an insufferable old man!" she spat, her face turning a deep shade of red. "You have no idea what I've been through in the last few months! And you know what, I'm sorry if I'm a whiny little brat, but I'm doing the best I can!" she said lowering her voice as some of the company began to stir.

Her glance, however, lost none of its anger or nerve, even as tears began to sting at her eyes.

"And I'm sorry that I'm stuck here in this stupid hell hole, rotting away, probably minutes from getting killed by things I used to have nightmares about; but frankly, I think I'm holding up pretty well under the circumstances. And even worse, I'm sorry I ever found this stupid necklace!" she said angrily, her voice still low and dangerous as she pulled the locket out from under her shirt and held it out.

"I wish I had never put the stupid piece of shit on, because then I never would have heard of some crazy, demented place called Middle Earth, and I would be safe at home, complaining about work, and begging my mom for a car - not fighting for my life! And you know what I wish most of all? I wish I had never met you!" she spit out, her tone becoming loathing and venomous. "What did I ever do to you? I didn't ask to be here! I would give anything not to be! I miss my family, and I miss my friends, and my old life, and I just want to go home! I don't need you on my ass every two seconds, so just leave me alone!" she continued, tears spilling openly down her face.

"I'm sorry I'm not good enough for you, but we can't all be great and mighty Boromirs and I'm sick and tired of having to try and be!" she finished, eyeing him harshly, her face red and blotchy with tears, and her lip still trembling uncontrollably.

Words could not describe the fury he felt at her insolent words. How dare she speak to him as such - did she not know who he was? Did she not care for his station, so clearly above hers? If they had they been in Gondor, she would have been thrown in the stocks for her insolence. Such talk to a Lord was irredeemable and unforgivable, yet for the first time since he had met the girl, he felt true pity for her. Thinly veiled between her harsh words he saw for the first time the true helplessness of her situation, pathetic as she was.

Her challenging gaze was fixed on him, or at least to the untrained eye. He had been in enough battles to know the difference between true courage and a conjured trick, one brought about solely through desperation, a need to find some kind of false strength.

"I don't like you, you don't like me - it's pretty obvious," she continued. "There's a week left, then we never have to see each other again. It's scary enough being down here, I don't need to be watching my back against you, too. Let's just call a damn truce, and then we never have to see each other again."

He studied her long and hard as she worked furiously, trying to wipe away the tears that continued to pour down her face.

It surprised him greatly that she cared that much about keeping a strong front; that she would work so hard to conceal her weaknesses.

It was not that he thought better of her; no, she was still an insufferable little girl, but for the first time, he realized it was not solely of her own doing. She merely wanted to return home, no different from he, and was willing to do whatever she could to get there. If nothing else, she deserved some credit for trying - he did not know any other women who would have held out so long on this journey, even if she was slowing them down considerably.

Perhaps she was right, and a truce for the time being would be beneficial to all. There were already far too many enemies in these Mines to be wasting his time bothering with petty arguments.

He was surprised at her wisdom on the occasion, even if he doubted he would see the likes of it from her again. No matter, there was only a week left of their journey - surely he could stand her incessant rambling for that much longer.

He was a warrior. He had fought in countless battles, against innumerable odds, and yet none seemed as daunting as the prospect of an attempted reconciliation with this illogical woman. She tried his patience to no end, and if it was not on purpose, she still seemed to have no qualms about continuing it anyways.

He continued to watch her, as she stood in front of him resolutely, yet his trained eyes did not miss the flicker of her own, as her gaze darted around almost fearfully. Even if she did feel terror, she was doing a better job than most at concealing it. Why could she not show this kind of fortitude in the face of other such evils?

Such resilience and cool-headedness would have served her well when they were attacked by the gate keeper of Moria, yet then she had stood stunned and terrified, and of no use to anyone.

He acknowledged once again that he would never understand women. They managed to wrack up such courage for the most trivial of things, yet in the face of true danger, were as helpless as an infant.

"Well?" she bit out, obviously still angry, and trying to hide the unsurity she felt.

"Very well, little girl," he replied. "You will have your truce - as long as you do not get in the way of us reaching our destination."

He was careful not to apologize, though it was clear in her face that was what she expected. He was a Lord of Gondor - he apologized for nothing. Especially not for the hurt feelings of an over emotional little girl.

"Fine, whatever," she said, still glaring at him when it became apparent that no further attempt at reconciliation would be made. "You stay out of my way, I'll stay out of yours," she finished.

She stuck out her hand in an odd manner, before pulling it back quickly when his look of skepticism became apparent to her.

"Never mind - old habits die hard," she muttered more to herself than to him, he was sure. "Whatever. As long as we're not looking for blood anymore, I'm cool."

Her odd form of speech continued to perplex him, yet he was able to understand the basic meaning behind her words. She wanted a simple truce - an attempt at starting over.

Such a feat would be easier said then done, yet he was a gentleman, and man enough to give her a chance to rectify her idiocy.

He would give her this new chance, though he doubted it would fair better than the last.

"As you wish," he replied after a few more moments of hard deliberation.

Obviously his answer was acceptable, as she gave a brief nod of agreement.

"Good," she replied, looking around. "Now where's my sandwich?"


	14. Chapter 13

**Hi!**

**Ok, new chapter, and I feel it is my obligation to give a warning and an apology to all the Tolkien purists out there! The beginning of this chapter does follow more movie verse than book verse, simply because I tried doing it book verse, got about half a page written, and ended up writing two completely unrelated one shots in procrastination. **

**I was just unhappy with how the chapter was turning out, and movie verse FOR THIS ONE seemed to fit a lot better. All of it is not movie, simply the well incident with Pippin being all clumsy, versus dropping a stone down the big gaping hole. Other than that, I think it sticks pretty tight back to the book - it was just so much easier, and so much better of a flow to have it PJ style, and just mush that scene with the chamber of records and being attacked. Other than that little bit, it will be following back to book verse. (Hey, I did say it would be BV for the MOST part! :P). I even worked extra hard on this one, to make up for it! **

**Again, I'm sorry! Please don't hate me! I love you all so much!!! :)**

**Anyways, huge thanks to my reviewers, Saerwen, TwiDawnLight, Nameless1010, TavyBeckettFan, Valinor's Twilight, Roranon, Aoihand, DDEC, Dimari, Summer, and Lord Arandur! Thanks so much guys! I live for you guys! You have no idea!!! :)**

**And as always, a huge thanks to my beta, Gaslight!!!**

* * *

The footsteps and quiet muttering echoed heavily around the room as Vivienne explored, wandering silently around the large chamber, taking in every detail of its mysteries.

"What do you think happened here?" she asked, not taking her eyes off of the crumbling fixtures, or the bodies that littered the ground.

Now with the brighter light of Gandalf's staff she was for the first time able to see the corpses of the fallen dwarves as they truly were. No longer did they feel frightening and mythical, but toy like and surreal.

She was surprised at how white their bones were, and how brilliantly they shone, a sharp contrast to how she had always pictured the dead. Even through the rusted out armour and the cobwebs that littered their small, misshapen bodies she could see how intimidating they once had been.

"Fallen in battle, trapped in this chamber," Boromir answered, nodding to the two separate entrances. "They locked themselves in. Better they had left both doors wide and fought them in the open than to be ensnared in their orc traps."

She nodded silently, glancing at the large, overbearing doors that loomed on either side of the cavern. She had done her best thus far to avoid looking over at the tomb that had become the centerpiece of this bleak and haunting room, or to the dwarf who stood, head bowed in mourning silently next to it.

Behind her Aragorn and Gandalf were conversing quietly, trying valiantly to not be overheard. Small fragments of what was said still managed to drift across the vast and empty hall, however, and it was enough to remind them of the true severity of the situation.

The rest of the company stood littered, exploring like she. Boromir stood on one side, Pippin the other as they both approached the ominous looking well.

Through adequate effort, both Boromir and she had managed to remain civil, much of the initial tension of their relationship gone. There was still the occasion flutter of annoyance and a dark look here and there, but for the most part, the last three days had remained relatively uneventful in every way. She doubted whether there were any in the company who were not grateful.

If beating each other over the head with their anger had been the only answer to if not a friendship, then at least a conflict resolution, then perhaps they should have done it sooner.

She found the peace comforting, even if she was sure it was forced on both sides.

"Ah - I believe this is what we're looking for," Gandalf spoke from behind, and all quickly turned to look.

From the hands of one of the fallen dead she saw the old Wizard remove an ancient and decrepit book.

"What is that?" Merry asked, moving closer.

"From what I can see," Gandalf replied, opening it carefully and squinting his eyes in the harsh light. "It is a record of Balin's time here in Moria."

A long silence followed before Gimli finally spoke up - the first time he had since the discovery of his cousin's tomb.

"Well? Don't tempt us with idle talk of records and then refuse to tell us anything. What does it say?"

Gandalf remained silent for a few more minutes before finally answering.

What he read out to the group was spoken in no great detail, reciting here and there what he could read and understand every few pages or so. It was not hard to realize how broken apart and in what a bad state of disrepair the book really was. It seemed as if all he could give were broken fragments of segments and words, the rest destroyed by time, blood and flame.

Slowly he coursed through the years, giving bits of information on and off, all seeming to escalate in its course of good news. She was almost fooled into the belief of a happy victory before she was forcibly returned to reality, and the harshness of it that echoed around her.

The fact that even in a fantasy world it seemed there were no happy endings did little to settle her already agitated mind. Quickly she felt the ominous feeling in her gut grow, and her chest constrict tightly.

Never did it feel so much so as it did when Gandalf reached the end of their unhappy tale.

Ori, yet another lost friend of Gandalf's, had a chronicle as well, and his words appeared to be the ones of greatest woe. Balin was dead, and many others close to him, it seemed. Some were named individually, and the recitation of each one appeared to also have a great affect on the heart of the old man as his face visibly aged and saddened.

It also seemed that Boromir had been right in his observations about the ill-fate of the dwarves. Whether it was through knowledge and skill in battle, or sheer dumb luck Vivienne did not know, although her still moderately aggressive mind was more inclined to lean towards the latter.

She fought the fear that attempted to consume her by reminding herself that there likely was nothing left here. They has seen neither hide nor hair of anything even remotely alive down here, let alone of evil.

She attempted to console herself with thoughts that it had been many years since Gandalf or Aragorn had been to Moria, and maybe they were wrong. It was completely possible that the orcs had moved on at this point, and left it well alone - wasn't it?

A loud noise to the side of her startled her quickly out of her thoughts, and she turned her head just in time to see Pippin standing on the side of the well opposite her. The once fully-formed skeleton that had sat there now appeared to be missing its head. Even a fool could put together the hobbit's look of fear, the headless dwarf and the loud clattering noises that sounded down the long, empty hole.

Just as it appeared the disturbance had ended, the skeleton, now imbalanced by the weight change began to tumble slowly back as well.

Quickly she grabbed on to it, desperate to avoid any further commotion and awake anything in the deep, in spite of her attempt at convincing herself there was nothing to fear.

Her effort had no apparent effect, however, as the skeleton continued to topple, bringing down with it the chain and bucket that had lain coiled and attached around the body.

It seemed that the weight of the dwarf's corpse was to much for the leg she had so desperately clung to, and it had tore directly out of its joints.

She stood there, stalk-still next to the well, the rest of the company completely silent as the skeleton boomed and banged its way down the long path to the bottom. She cringed with each crash it made as the noise rippled and echoed through the whole of Moria.

So consumed was she in this new obstacle that she had yet to realize the skeletal leg that still remained limp in her hand. As the room returned to quiet and the company breathed a sigh of relief, she relaxed and gazed down at the object in her hand.

The instant she realized what she truly held, she let an unwise shriek fall from her lips, dropping it quickly on the to ground.

The group had no time to chastise her, or indeed for her to chastise herself for her foolishness. For just as she had clamped her now empty hand over her mouth in alarm, the first sound of their imminent deaths was heard, echoing from the deep.

* * *

"No! Do not seal the doors! We may have a chance to escape through them yet!" Gandalf barked, as the company moved to close the doors that lay to the back of them.

Within seconds of the first sounds of danger the group had sealed the door they had entered through. Any minute now the orcs would be descending upon them, and Vivienne would catch her first glance of the monsters referred to with such fear and loathing. Unfortunately, it seemed as though that sight would come with the highest of prices - death.

She stood watching the entrance in pure, unadulterated terror. The doors that had once looked so strong and intimidating now seemed weak and broken, and incapable of holding off the wave of fury that was to come.

"If no one's coming through there, then why don't we just run?" she screamed, fear grasping her heart as tears began to stream down her face.

She whirled around in desperation, looking for something - anything. There had to be a way out. There had to be somewhere to go. She couldn't die here, in this hell hole.

Before she knew it she was hyperventilating, her breath becoming more shallow and rapid with every strangled cry from the hideous beasts, as they descended upon the door mercilessly.

"They are too near!" Aragorn yelled. "We must fight! If we do not hold them off now, we will be overcome!"

"If we don't run now, we will die!" Merry cried from beside her, the hobbits and she all clustering together in fear.

If they ever had anything in common, it was now. Fear and the feeling of helplessness seemed a bond, pulling them together. Perhaps it was the irrelevant notion of safety in numbers? Or perhaps it was just the mere sentiment - to find comfort in another's presence before their gruesome death.

"Back!" Boromir bellowed as the first wave of orcs came crashing through the door.

Words could not adequately describe the sheer horrendousness of their faces, slimy, vile and terrifying. She doubted whether there was anyone who could look upon them and not see the deep seeded evil that was rooted within each one of the monstrous creatures and carried right down to their very core.

Again, she was pushed roughly to the side by Boromir as danger swept all around them. This time, however, she was much more accommodating, and gladly hid behind the large man.

Such was his size to hers she could not see round him in any direction, and for a moment, she was glad for it. Looking around in terror to those around her, she saw all heavily in combat save herself and the hobbits.

No, she corrected herself. Not all the hobbits.

It seemed as though Sam had found some sort of inner courage she herself so overwhelmingly lacked and was fighting viciously with an orc. Somehow one had somehow managed to snake the others' defences, and Sam was heavy in the midst of battle, his strokes obviously novice and unpractised, yet staggeringly brave nonetheless. Where he had received the sword, she did not know.

Vivienne had no time to see the outcome of his stand, however, as she was forced back again by Boromir, and cried out in terror as a slain orc fell dead at her feet.

She realized with overwhelming horror that she had stood seconds from death, so caught up in her desire to focus on anything but what loomed before her that she had not noticed.

For far too many times that week, she had been saved by Boromir. Yet this time she had no way of deflecting it or denying it, or saying that it had simply been a pretence of some kind.

Nothing could have been easier than allowing that monster to hack her into little pieces, yet he did not let it.

This was the first time she had seen him in battle - seen any of them in battle, and words could not describe how small and insignificant she truly felt.

She had no time to utter a quiet thank you, or to fully comprehend how close to death she had come, for within moments a great orc had sprung forth, clad heavily in armour and speared Frodo in the chest with a great force.

There was a great cry of terror and fury, and within moments, the ring-bearer went down.

* * *

**Anyways, PLEASE review!!!!!!! : I will love you forever and ever if you do!!!!!!!!!!!!! :)**


	15. Chapter 14

**Hi.**

**Sorry this chapter took so long, I was really stuck with what to do from what I had written last, and I think worked it out the best way that I could; I hope you all agree. I really felt there was nothing more I could add to Moria that Tolkien hadn't already explored in depth, and hadn't been done-to-death by every other 10th walker on ff. **

**A huge thanks to all my reviews, Batty Koda, Wildduckling, Nameless1010, TavyBeckettFan, Miriamne, Haldomir, SSJKarigan, DDEC, TwiDawnLight, Lord Arandur, Roranon, Dementra, Valinor's Twilight, Saerwen, Gaslight, Awreel and JenCarpeDiem.**

**And as always an extra huge thanks to my beta Gaslight.**

**Anyways, read, enjoy and PLEASE review!!! :)**

**Thanks**

* * *

Onwards they flew down the dark and jagged tunnels, stumbling and grasping in the dark. In front of them was nothing more than blackness, and as they continued to climb, each step brought another terrified jolt as they expected it to be their last.

Another arrow crashed into the cold surface of the wall, and Vivienne had to suppress a scream as its jagged point narrowly missed her. She was shocked at the speed and strength of it, always having confused their primitive form with a lack of danger. Clearly she had underestimated the true danger of ancient weapons as they continued to fall around her, embedding themselves in everything near with a ferocious force.

Finally the first glance of sunshine radiated in front of them, and as they turned a final corner its shine dazzled them. All shielded their eyes against the harsh brightness and scrambled out from the tormenting pits below them.

They grasped blindly in the new light, even Legolas' keen eyes were dazed as they fell upon the great mound of rocks, too exhausted both physically and emotionally to move. Aragorn at last called for rest, halting upon the mountain's jagged surface, acknowledging the weariness in the hearts and minds of the group.

Vivienne was torn with indecision. Every muscle in her body ached, and she felt weak and tired, still not fully recovered from her illness, something that did not bode well with barrelling down a monstrous flight of stairs and through the labyrinth of Moria. And though her body screamed in agony to stop, her mind reeled and shrieked, howling for them to continue on, that they were not safe. Surely the orcs would be following them? They would not give up on them so easily. And that thing...

She closed her eyes and tried to hold back a sob, but to no effect. A mixture of terror and sorrow pulled at her heart as the scene replayed in her mind over and over, torturing her and sending cold shivers of horror rolling down her spine.

_They had just left him fall. Done nothing, provided no help._

Angry, horrified tears poured from her eyes, as she fell against a large rock, clinging to herself desperately and giving no thought to anything around her.

Never in all her time here had she wished so hard to be home, praying to whoever was listening to simply wake up, or to have never even existed at all.

_Fly, you fools!_

The words echoed agonizingly in her head, the scene flashing once more before her eyes. Words could not express the sorrow and self-hatred she felt; how pathetic and useless she truly was. Never before had she seen someone die, never seen the life extinguished from their eyes, or the fleeting helplessness and desperation as they realized their unquestionable fate. And they had all stood there and done nothing.

What would they do now? Where would they go? Gandalf was their leader, had guided, protected them and brought them through all perils. And now they were all alone. _She_ was all alone.

Nothing was safe. She knew that now.

* * *

They continued on agonizingly through the rough terrain that surrounded the mountains, never ceasing in their relentless move forwards, desperate to put as much space between themselves and Moria as possible.

Some of the company were beginning to lag, though the stronger had already taken their share of the baggage. The hobbits and the girl had quickly been removed of their burdens; the company required speed, and they could barely keep moving much less hasten forward with loads heavy upon their backs. Boromir and Aragorn had soon given these over to the Dwarf and Elf, however, as now they were required to carry Frodo and Sam.

Both had been wounded in the onslaught of Moria and were not faring well, at least not for this strenuous leg of the journey; so just as he had atop the mountain, Boromir was once again burdened with hobbits upon his back, though he did not begrudge Sam this. Valiantly he fought in the mines, if not with much skill than with much heart. His courage had earned Boromir's respect, and that was not something easily given. Perhaps he had been wrong about the small creatures; not in all the ages past or still yet to come would he chose one as the warrior by his side, but that did not take away from his new found respect for the halfling. It was good to know at least some would not shrink from the fight, even if their skills could hardly be counted upon to win a battle.

As was expected, the girl had relied heavily upon the group, cowering behind him, but at least she did not get in the way, and had managed to keep some wits about her this time; a small but much welcomed improvement.

She remained quiet and introverted as they continued on, mirroring the rest of the company, and again Boromir found himself preferring her this way. When she was quiet, she was tolerable, though he wished the circumstances would have come about in a better way.

Gandalf had fallen, fought the Balrog and paid the price for his foolishness. It had been against the better judgement and wishes of most of the company to venture into Moria, and yet he would not relent; and now he had been consumed by both shadow and flame.

He could not deny the fear that gripped his heart at the sight of the ghostly creature as it descended upon them, yet he had refused to leave the old man's side, refused to flee like a woman or a child. But the old man had urged both he and Aragorn on, bayed them, nay _ordered_ them onwards, to run while he fought, to flee while he remained firm, and if for nothing else his courage and fortitude would always remain a shining mirror of valour in Boromir's mind.

The wounds of his passing were still far too near - too near it seemed even for grief. Long had Boromir known Mithrandir, memories of him stretching back as long as he could remember, and the once invulnerable man was lost forever, and the peril of this quest growing deeper with each day that passed.

Who knew which would be the next to fall, or indeed whether any one of them would make it through the night at all. The sun was quickly fading, and no doubt the pursuit would be fast upon their heels. Numbness was all he had the ability to feel, and as much as he tried to push his mind to other matters, all he could now think of was how to tell his brother that his friend and mentor was gone. Surely there were other things he should be thinking of - safety, survival, his own raw pain - yet he could not lose the thoughts of the life he had left behind, of his home and of his family, far away in Gondor.

Even now it still seemed as if the only thing that carried his sore and weary feet was the knowledge that each painful step brought him closer to his city, to his home and the one place he had ever truly felt happiness, no matter how fleeting it had been. Faramir would be distraught, yes, and Boromir anticipated that pain with an ache that had already begun its lament within him. Always had he been the protector and caregiver of his brother; there was nothing in the world he would not do to protect him, and now he must bring him this grief, this sorrowful news, and remove all illusions of peace.

But when had anyone in the house of Stewards truly known peace? It was a word, a thought, an ideal, a notion - nothing more. Peace would never be; not as long as fathers slighted sons, as brothers fought brothers. It was not the war or the enemy that would destroy the house that had ruled even longer than the Kings; it was the war within, the war within all hearts and minds of men. They would never be free from its trap, never be set loose from its snare. Not when men were so cruel and greedy by very nature, and not when they were hunted by mythical creatures of the night.

_Balrogs of Khazadum_.

And he thought orcs were the vilest of the creatures of the deep.

* * *

"Consider yourself lucky, Sam," Aragorn spoke, finally looking up from the young hobbit's head. "Many have suffered much worse a bite in payment for the slaying of their first Orc." He looked to Boromir. "It is not infected."

All the company breathed an audible sigh of relief at this small piece of good news; as more time passed, the more it was needed.

Boromir watched as the ranger began to bandage the halfling's head, a deep cut stretching the rim of his skull; it was gruesome, but not deadly.

The company was moving steadily closer to Lorien, but it seemed the night was moving even steadier. Soon they would be shrouded in darkness, and the quicker they reached the safety of the woods, the better. What safety they would find there, however, Boromir did not know. Aragorn assured them of its haven, and it was the road of Gandalf all along, yet the nearer they approached its borders, the more sinister it grew. Proven by his fate in Moria, the old man's mind was no longer sound. Did his wisdom falter here once more?

He suddenly felt somewhat ashamed at his accusation, justified as it may be. The old man's presence had yet to leave them and already he insulted him.

Whether it was anger or fear that caused him to act so irrationally, he did not know; only that they must move forward if they were to have any hope of survival. He could not protect them indefinitely.

As soon as Sam's wounds were haphazardly bandaged, the company once again began to move. Boromir was exhausted in every possible way, and yet there was no way his mind would allow him any contentment until a forest separated himself and Moria.

He wondered briefly what they would find there. Watching its dark and ominous borders from their distance, he could not help but wonder if there remained any elves there at all. If its sinister feeling was any indication, then nothing but creatures of the night surely remained?

Long had Lothlorien been in the legends of Minas Tirith, passed on from old women to their children and grandchildren, idle stories that lay in childhood and the minds of the simple; and yet so had Elrond - and Rivendell - the least being the tale of the Ring, of Isildur's Bane. Yet there they were, materialized as if by magic, and not through idle sloth on his part.

For many months he had travelled and scourged, searching desperately and almost in vain for any trace of a lost people. And finally he had found them, and what good had it done them? Surely the hobbit would not succeed in his task? It was folly to place such a burden, such a great task upon someone so small and insignificant. Why not someone else? Someone of a mightier heart than that which lay in such a small creature. Aragorn, or Mithrandir, before he had lost his sight and fallen into darkness? Or perhaps himself? Why not Boromir of Gondor? Surely he could fulfill any task laid upon him. Had not his father always looked to him for council and guidance?

Yet quickly he shook these thoughts aside. It was the will of the council and of greater minds that his that had laid this burden at the feet of Frodo, and Boromir would do what his oath charged of him. Accompany the ring as far as he might, and then turn west, to Gondor and his home.

Again he found himself grateful that it was he that was here, strange and backward as it seemed. For while he was here, Faramir was not, and that was something for which he would forever be grateful. He would willingly and gladly face all the horrors of the earth if he knew it would keep his brother from them in his stead.

And as they crossed the borders of Lorien, its sinister and unwholesome boughs hanging above their heads, it seemed to him as though he was not the only one who did not feel contented and safe within their grasps. The dwarf had a definite look of distrust and comfort, but it appeared that he was the only one. The rest were at ease and joyous, moving freely about their branches, all sorrow and weariness forgotten. It seemed he was not the only one to insult the memory of the fallen old man.

Or perhaps it was not insult, but simply sudden levity at the illusion of safety, for that was all it was. The illusion that they were now beyond the reach of the orcs. Boromir knew better.

After many years of combat he knew well the minds and hearts of the orcs, as miniscule as they may be. Many miles and many days would they willingly give chase to avenge a fallen captain, and barely a league had they placed between themselves and them since then.

Looking into the grave face of the ranger, he knew he was not alone in his thoughts. If the company did not begin to move again soon, all would be lost. Already the moon was far on its path into the darkening night sky, and within the hour there would be no hint that the sun had ever lived present upon the trees.

He caught Aragorn's eye, giving him a grave and pointed look. No words were needed to convey their meaning. The ranger knew, and nodded solemnly in response. Safety was still many leagues away, and even then it remained doubtful at best.

He now wondered what ultimatum appeared worse; facing the horrors of the creatures born of the earth and darkness, or a treacherous Elven Queen who hid herself in her woods, bewitching men and tearing out their hearts.

Little had any appeal, and at least Boromir knew he could defend himself against orcs and blades. Elven magic was another.

It seemed, however, as if he had little choice in the matter.

"We must keep moving," the ranger spoke, shrugging his pack further onto his shoulders, now devoid of any hobbits. "Night has arrived too quickly, and we have far to go."

Boromir sighed in both acceptance and trepidation. It seemed he would come before this Elven Queen whether he liked it or not. He would not abandon his companions, not when an oath had been sworn and they were now in such a vulnerable state.

Yet he would be sure to keep his eyes sharp, and attempt to perceive any witchery this woman might try and perform. Elven magic alone was sinister to him; in the hands of a woman, it could be deadly.

"Are you coming, Boromir?" Aragorn called out, turning his head back to look, already far ahead in Lorien's thick branches.

With another sigh, he heaved his heavy pack upon his broad shoulders once more and continued on into the forest. He was a great lord, he would not be bested by a group of ominous looking trees.

_'One last place to contend, and on to Gondor..._' he thought, stepping ever farther into the overgrown trees. _'On to home.'_


	16. Chapter 15

**Hi, sorry the chapters have been taking so long lately! I think I hit that stage a couple chapters ago where you stop wanting to write just because its becomes so tedious; but don't worry, I refuse to be one of those people who just stops writing and leaves their readers hanging, or takes years between updates! I'm aiming for two new chapters every month, so hopefully I'll be able to achieve it.**

**And a SUPER huge sorry for the chapter tease a few days ago! I didn't actually mean to post anything (I didn't even have anything to post!) - I was going back and re-editing some minor stuff (basically removing unnecessary author notes) and I guess I must have hit the wrong button, because next thing I know there's an email in my inbox claiming I've posted a new chapter! I guess its kind of good for you guys though in a way, because I felt so bad I actually sat down and wrote the new chapter in a day so I could post it for you guys! So I hope you all like it!!!**

**Thanks to all my reviewers (Dimari, Gaslight, DDEC, Dementra, TwiDawnLight, Valinor's Twilight, J.C., Saerwen, Roranon, Deviantwind, Summer, and Katia), I love you guys! Your the only thing that has kept me (and will keep me writing) through my funk! :)**

**And as always a huge thanks to my wonderful beta Gaslight!**

**Anyways, please review and enjoy! :)**

* * *

The woods were deceptively quiet all around them, nothing but the humming of gentle birds and the chatter of both passing river and company to break the silence. Boromir sat apart from the rest, absorbed in thought and showing little relish for the food he ate with half-hearted interest.

Again it seemed as though Mithrandir's loss had been forgotten, as Legolas sang of the river and the Elven maiden who long ago dwelt on its banks. _Nimrodel_. Little did it have to do with their situation, or placing further distance between themselves and the mountains.

He was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps, and quickly reached for his sword out of habit. His vigilance was unfounded, he realized, when nothing more stood before him than the nervous, fidgety tag-along to their quest.

"Yes?" he snapped, in no mood to play games.

She remained there, silent and unmoving, ignoring his question.

Her gaze was fixated on the ground as she wrung her hands and dug the toe of her shoe into the ground. He noticed she continued her atrociously annoying habit of biting her lip.

How it irritated him to no end.

He repeated his question once again, to no further avail. Just when he was about to scold the foolish girl, her words trickled out.

"I, uh, I just wanted to say," she mumbled, still not removing her gaze from its rapt attention on a clump of weeds near her feet. "That, I, uh..."

"Out with it, girl," he said, sighing in frustration. He had not the patience or the energy to deal with her ramblings tonight.

"Thank you."

Her words were fast and quiet, yet Boromir did not miss them. Neither did he miss the serious look in her eyes as she met his gaze for the first time since he had saved her life in the mines. For once there lay no mischief or humour or sarcasm within them; naught but honesty, and humility.

She coughed, clearing her throat and repeated it again, this time more slowly and earnestly.

The forest around them suddenly seemed silent as Boromir remained unmoved and unspeaking.

"You saved my life..." she added quietly, her tone more serious than he had ever seen it.

It seemed that humility was a lesson hard learned, yet learned it finally had been. Perhaps now she would not take this quest so lightly; he only found it slightly ironic that after she had finally ceased her childish and condescending ways, they had reached her destination.

It was better now than never, he supposed.

"You're welcome," he replied.

There was no sharpness or bite to his answer, no sarcasm or forced civility.

"Um... ok then..." she stuttered out. "So, I'm just going to, uh, you know," she gestured back towards the hobbits pointedly. Boromir remained silent. "Ok, so... bye?"

Still he remained unchanging, and with a slightly flushed look, she turned her back on him and moved quickly back to the halflings.

Another moment of passive silence followed before Boromir turned his attention back to his meal. He eyed it contemptuously and took another bite. As he shook his head, he realized with no small surprise how little he knew about women, and how over-emotional, confusing and illogical they could be.

'_And that one is the worst.'_

* * *

The sky was dark and the trees did little to attract the moonlight, a blessing in disguise, though few had noticed it.

Vivienne shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a more ideal position on the hard wooden floor built high in the treetops. She had done her best to avoid a place by the edge, afraid that her vertigo would get the best of her. However, the payment for that was a small, cramped position stuck in the center of the pavilion.

Beside her a sleeping hobbit attempted to drive himself into her closely guarded space and she shoved him away irritably. Normally such a thing would not bother her, but tonight was far from normal.

Heights had always remained high on her list of fears and the only thing that kept her within the mallorn's high branches was the fear of what roamed beneath.

It seemed uncountable hours had passed since they had been ushered into it, herself and the hobbits residing on one platform, the rest of the company on the other. To their extreme luck, they had stumbled across the Elves, protectors and guarders of Lorien who had allowed them to fall under their protection.

Though she did not feel fully comfortable separated from most of the group, especially so soon after the horror of the fall of Gandalf, it seemed that the Elves as a race had a wholesome, comfortable feeling about them, and it was not long before her guard had fallen to the wayside.

As they had sat and waited, they talked little, but perhaps that was well; there seemed little to say in aftermath of Moria, and all conversation had become superficial and forced.

"Merry, move over!" Pippin muttered irritably, his voice sleepy. It appeared that after his failure of forcing himself into her small space, he had turned upon his cousin.

"You move over, Pip!" he replied, his tone much the same.

"Why don't you both move over and stop your bellyaching so the rest of us can get some sleep!" Sam snapped, losing his temper on the others. "We've had a hard day and barely any rest, and I'll be my own grandfather if it'll be any easier tomorrow!"

That was enough to silence the rest, though they did so grudgingly. She could still hear mutterings of not enough space coming from the misshapen lump beside her. It seemed no one was too thrilled with their new safe haven.

"Hobbits aren't meant for this sort of thing, you know!" she heard Merry grumble in the dark. "A nice hobbit hole could have done just fine, but no! Why not climb a big tree instead!"

She was not surprised by their irritability. It seemed to be the one thing the company all had in common, at least at present.

The numbness of their loss was still heavy upon their shoulders and their solution seemed to be taking it out on each other. Apparently, angry words tossed around were preferable to accepting their grief. Perhaps that was just as well - she dreaded the day when she was finally forced to confront what had truly happened.

Never before had she been touched by death this closely. Her whole life had been relatively untouched by the reality of it. If only her civilization knew the true reality of what was out there, lurking in whatever terrifying, lost piece of the world this was, then perhaps they would not take death and violence so lightly.

Still she felt dazed by it, desensitized and lost, like it had been nothing more than a dream. The images replayed over and over again in her mind, like a movie stuck on repeat. Never would it end, but be frozen in that moment of time, when Gandalf was lost to darkness.

Neither had she given up on the sound berating that she had been laying upon herself for her last encounter with Boromir. Try as she might, she could not seem to shake the resentment and anger she felt towards herself for her actions earlier that night. Her attempt at finding some semblance of peace with Boromir had somehow managed to become nothing more than her making a bumbling fool out of herself. What was she thinking? He already thought she was an idiot, but she had to go and prove him right?

She knew there were far more important things to be thinking of, and yet she could not get the previous encounter out of her head. Perhaps it was just her mind attempting to force itself to think of something other than everything that had happened within the last day, but that still did not stop the fury at her own frivolity.

All she wanted to do was show her gratitude for what he had done. She would be dead without him now, that she knew all too clearly, and the horror of the creatures face's had not yet left her. What fate would have befallen her without his protection, she was terrified to even imagine.

She froze up suddenly, her muscles tense as her stomach jumped, contorting painfully in fear. Voices - below.

"Shhh," she heard an urgent elvish voice mutter.

It appeared she was not the only one awake and listening after all.

"What is it?" Frodo asked, his voice low.

"Orcs," he replied.

She thought it was Haldir, but she could not be sure. He and his brothers were far too alike to easily tell apart, and in the darkness it was near impossible.

"I thought they could not enter the woods?" the hobbit questioned, his voice trembling slightly.

"They have gotten past our border patrols. Fear not, little friend. They will not find us here."

Through their conversation Vivienne remained silent, having already learned the harsh lesson since Moria that sometimes it was better to listen and not to speak. Her words had no value and were of no consequence; the only product of their outcome would be one more clue to the creatures below of exactly where they were hiding.

She felt sick to her stomach as all conversation on the pavilion died, and nothing but the horrible voices of the orcs remained. The more they spoke, the more hideous their voices began to sound. Their words became angrier and more terrible by the minute as their loud, heavy footsteps echoed across the forest floor.

She crossed her arms protectively over her chest, her breath caught in her throat, terrified the sound of her heartbeat would give them all away. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to shut off her mind and pretend she was not there. It turned out to be of little use, and only managed to set the fear even higher in her heart.

Within moments new voices seemed to flit about them, fair and beautiful, though distant. The Elves.

"A distraction," one of them in the pavilion whispered. "They are being lured away."

A good thing it was indeed, as the voices of the orcs had been creeping steadily nearer, ever encroaching upon their position.

"They are gone," the first Elf spoke, his voice turning to normality as the threat of the orcs faded. "Our brothers will guard us against them. Fear not – we are safe for the night."

She only hoped they were right.

* * *

The air around them was musty and stifling as they held council within the treetops, sheltered by their thick branches. Boromir sat, leaning upon one of their enclosure's many edges, weary in mind and body, and longing for rest.

The orcs had barely passed them by, and were it not for the aid of the Elven folk, likely the death toll of Moria would be higher. Tense they had all sat, silent and ready, waiting for their time to strike. Yet no arrow sung from the bow of Legolas; no axe was cleaved, or sword swung, and they were left utterly unnoticed, overwrought and on edge within the mallorn's mighty branches.

Beside him he heard many different talks - of orcs and elves, of demons and deceit. Yet no words had yet fallen from any of their lips concerning the old man who now lay at the bottom of an endless gorge beside a creature of the darkness. Or perhaps he did not lie there at all. Perhaps the crevice truly was endless, and he hung there yet, falling for an eternity, trapped in a limbo between life and death.

Quickly he pushed the thought aside, berating himself swiftly for believing the foolish nonsense of the old wives' tales. Of course the pit had an end. Everything had an end. For better or for worse, it still had an end.

And though he knew it, he sometimes still doubted it to be true. There were many things that seemed to never come to an end, this night especially. It seemed none of them would find respite within the forest, no matter how desperately it was needed. Far too much lay heavy upon their minds, and even more was left still undecided. Much as he rued the thought, he found himself agreeing with the angry ramblings of the dwarf.

"I'm telling you, she cannot be trusted," he raged. "She's a witch! One most clever and conniving at that! She may fool you others, but she won't bewitch a dwarf!"

"Do not speak of that which you do not know, Gimli, son of Gloin," Aragorn replied angrily. "You will find no evil in Galadriel, nor in her woods. Many times have my travels brought me through the land of Lorien, though not as much as my heart would desire it. The greatest hardship you will find within its boughs is in leaving it."

"Not from the stories I have heard, Strider!" the dwarf answered. "Few have left her woods unscathed!"

"And if by unscathed, you mean unchanged, than the wisdom of the dwarves has long been unknown! You will feel it before the end, Gimli, in that you can trust. The magic of Galadriel lies deep, and not in tricks or deceit, but the mightiness that she wields within her heart. You too will know its power when it touches you."

"She'll have to get through my axe before she comes anywhere near me!" he replied unmoving.

"Alas!" Legolas spoke, his fair face riddled with despair. "Have we not argued enough tonight? My heart and mind are weary; let us speak of this no longer. Never have I had the good fortune to meet the Lady, yet her Lord has often sat council at my father's table. A fairer and mightier of the first born the woods of my home have not seen, lest it be the presence of my very father himself! Let us speak on this no longer, for no good or answers will come of it! Already the sun hastens her presence upon us, and for the first time in my life I find myself cursing her blessings! Sleep now, and leave the twisted tales of the children of Durin within their mountain halls where they belong! Here is a land of light and laughter, and my heart aches desperately for it!"

Boromir could not fault the elf for his words, though he still did not trust this place. He would find no rest here, and wished for nothing more than to leave it.

"Twisted tales of the children of Durin?" Gimli balked, his fury clear even through the harsh light. "There are less things twisted in all the lands and deeds of the dwarves than there are in your lady! Just like the elves!" he mocked. "Always spewing about things that make yourselves more important! It was the dwarves who were first created in this land, elf! You may have forgotten it, but we have not! It's just your kind who hog all the glory!"

"Enough!" Boromir replied, no longer able to sit idle. "I care not who was awoken first under the sun, only what we do from here! It is obvious we can no longer turn back, though that would be my council. I care to hear no more of the petty bickering of elves and dwarves. The lady's true self will be revealed to us in the morrow, whether we wish it or not. Until then quell your thoughts and speak no more!"

His words appeared enough to silence them all, and Boromir did not miss the approving glance of Aragorn. He consoled himself with the knowledge that at least he was not alone in his tiring of the pettiness of them all and wordlessly they unrolled their packs and settled themselves in for the remainder of the night.

Boromir caught one last glace of the other pavilion as he laid his weary head down at last. Briefly he wondered of the doings of the other half of the group. Yet he had little time to think of it before sleep descended upon him swiftly.

He was not unglad for it.


	17. Chapter 16

**Hi guys!**

**Sorry about the huge wait on this; I haven't given up, I swear! I just got a really bad case of the writers block, and it didn't help that this was the chapter I have been dreading writing right from the beginning. I just couldn't figure out a way to do the whole Galadriel thing and kept putting it off, so I finally figured out a way around it. I hope you enjoy it! You have no idea how hard I tried on this chapter! Oh, and for those of you who didn't notice, I re-wrote the first couple of chapters. There was no big changes, so don't worry about having to read it - just so you know in case you think it looks kind of different! And so you know I didn't TOTALLY do nothing! :P**

**So thank you to all who have been reading and reviewing (TwiDawnLight, FuneralFairy, GreenGypsy, K-Jaye, xXSummerXx, Roranon, Valinor's Twilight, DDEC, Saerwen, Dimari, Isah, Gaslight, and PudgyCat). I love you guys! Thank you so much! :)**

**And an especially huge thanks to my beta Gaslight, who assures me this chapter doesn't suck as much as I think it does! :P**

**So enjoy, and PLEASE review!!!!! :)**

**Thank you! :)**

* * *

Vivienne smushed her pillows together, kneading and battering them into futile submission as her mind whirled, the harsh and terrifying words of Galadriel still echoing fruitlessly in her mind.

It had long since grown dark in the forests of Lorien, though the moon shone unnaturally bright through the forest tops. All around the singing of many elves was heard, their fair, celestial voices mournful and filled with sorrow; there was no doubt of what they sang.

As much as she tried to push away the searching voice of Lady Galadriel, it would not leave her. It appeared she was not the only one.

"I do not like her – the Elven woman," Boromir spoke as the rest of the company shuffled about, unpacking their few belongings and trying to find some comfort in their new surroundings. The Elven Lords had bequeathed them a large Pavilion at the base of a great Mallorn, much to the gratitude of the hobbits, exhausted and happy to once more make their beds upon the welcome ground. Now their minds turned to other matters, however, as they discussed the coming morrow.

"The Lady of Lothlorien is benevolent and fair," Aragorn replied, fixing the blankets upon his own chaise, a long, armless sofa that would make do for a bed. "It would do you well to speak no ill of her."

"Who I speak ill of is of my own business," Boromir replied. "And she has a strange feeling about her."

For hours the company had argued, agreeing to disagree about their arrangements and few speaking of what they had heard. Aragorn and Legolas alone seemed unperturbed by the volatile probing of their minds, and none seemed willing to share.

For once Vivienne chose to separate herself from the others, far more open and vulnerable than she ever had before. Galadriel and Celeborn had originally insisted on separating her from the others, something she assumed was for propriety's sake, but she had begged and pleaded to be allowed to remain with the others. Lothlorien was fair and beautiful, but she had to agree with Boromir – it was strange, and there was something highly unsettling about the way Galadriel had looked within her mind.

"_**Do not forget..."**_

She shuddered in dread, her emotions a mixture of both awe and trepidation as she remembered her words. While there was something undeniably both great and compassionate about the Elven woman, there was the unmistakable notion of something much more terrible lurking within her depths. Vivienne just hoped she would do nothing to incur her wrath.

"Sam!" Merry spoke, the conversation long since turned away to other matters. "What did she say to you to make you blush so?"

"I hope nothing more than a wicked plot to steal my blanket!" Pippin answered, eyes alight as he teased the hobbit mercilessly.

"I'll have you know it was no such thing!" Sam replied angrily, glowering at him.

"Then what _did_ she say?" Merry continued, receiving no answer save for more scowling words that quickly turned into a bickering match between the three.

Frodo, however, remained silent throughout it all, giving no clue as to what Galadriel had spoken of. Vivienne watched him closely, studying him, trying to decipher what lay in his mind.

"_**Have you given no thought to the ring...? To the power it could give you...?"**_

The words of Galadriel had shocked her, leaving her feeling alone and uncertain. Of course she hadn't... she had no reason to; it wasn't her business - she was just trying to get back home. Elrond and Gandalf had made it wholly clear that the Ring was naught but evil, and until now she hadn't the slightest inclination to go anywhere near the wretched thing.

"_**It could give you the power to return to your world**__**..**__**."**_

Was she right? Would it give her the ability to go home? So caught up in her own misery and plight had she been, that she gave little thought to the mission of the others, her days spent too sore and tired to even consider it. Many times over had she thanked her parent's tireless athletic endeavouring long forced upon their children to carry her through. She was also highly aware that the company had slowed down greatly to accompany her, yet that did not change the weariness that she felt.

"_**All you would have to do is reach out and take it..."**_

She felt angry and foolish, in utter disbelief of the lies she had been told by Gandalf and Elrond. They said they had no way to get her home, that only what brought her here could do it, yet Galadriel claimed all along the power was in their grasp. Maybe she could go home today, tonight, make amends for all the hurt she had caused, and all the things she had missed. Galadriel was right... All she truly did have to do was reach out and take it...

"**Girl!**" an irritated voice exclaimed, obviously not for the first time.

She jumped quickly, whirling around in fright, thoroughly started by another presence in her own dark little corner. Her mind suddenly felt lighter, calmer - the anger, darkness and confusion falling to the wayside as Frodo fell from her sight and thoughts, and she took in the new scene in front of her.

A short distance away she heard the bickering of the hobbits, and the unmistakably familiar sound of Dwarven snoring. Aragorn and Legolas were nowhere in sight, and Boromir now stood in front of her, his face slightly impatient.

"It will not do to have you so easily lose sight of your surroundings, little girl," he said, his voice conveying his growing impatience.

"I, uh..."she began, giving her head a final shake to clear it fully of its fog. "Sorry, I just got distracted," she said, ignoring the degrading nickname and studying him in full detail, grateful that she managed to utter a full, comprehensible sentence for once in his presence. "I'm really tired..." she finished lamely.

"Mmm..." he replied, giving her a surprisingly sympathetic nod of understanding, the look on his face clearly not buying her lie. She was shocked at his civil manner towards her - one that could almost be mistaken for pleasant. "It seems all our minds are turning towards our own thoughts."

She nodded, biting at her thumb and making a nondescript sound of agreement.

"Were you not offered your own chambers by the hosts?" he questioned bluntly, looking critically at her small corner as she braced herself for another round of sarcasm and insinuation.

"I asked them to stay here," she replied emotionlessly, chewing harder upon her nails as she tried to hide her obvious discomfort. She had enough going on in her mind, she didn't need another futile argument.

Several moments of silence followed as she returned her gaze resolutely to the ground, refusing to meet his eye. Finally he let out a sigh, a noise that sounded remarkably similar to defeat, and she looked up at man towering far above her in surprise.

"I surmised as much," he replied, shifting the large sheet she now noticed he held in his hand. "Here," he continued, allowing it to flow free as he moved to one side of the Pavilion. Silently he began hooking one side of the silky, slightly translucent material to a corner of the make-shift building, unhesitantly pulling the full length across the small space she had claimed as her own and finished attaching it to the other side. She now sat blocked off entirely from the others, save a few dark silhouettes and loud noises that came from the other side. "If you refuse to sleep apart from us, then you should at least have some semblance of privacy," he began. "For modesty's sake."

"Wow..." she said, struggling for an appropriate response for several long moments. "But why now? I've been with you guys non-stop for over a month. What's the big difference? I don't mind."

"Before was out of necessity, and not my choice; and you should, you are a lone woman in the company of men."

"Oh... yeah, I guess you're right," she answered, looking him in the eye and slightly mystified that he would do such a thing for her. She began to get the highly uncomfortable notion that she had been overly harsh of him.

Maybe their dreadfully uncomfortable rendezvous on the borders of Lorien had helped after all. At least she wouldn't have to keep kicking herself in the ass over it.

"Thank you," she finished earnestly, giving him a weak smile through her fist, still unwilling to spit out the offensive nail until it was dug down to the quick. She noticed with a small feeling of victory the irritated glance he gave it, before silently nodding in acquiescence and backing out of her small, make-shift room. Silently the curtain swung closed behind him and she remained unmoving.

She sat silent, watching the curtain for several seconds, completely bemused by the altogether passive tryst before shaking her head in disbelief.

"Men," she muttered under her breath, bewildered by the baffling exchange. "Can't live with 'em..." she said, pausing briefly to fall back against the soft pillows canvassing the chaise beneath her. A loud banging was heard outside the curtain and the unmistakable silhouette of tumbling hobbits was seen. She shook her head in exasperation and rolled her eyes in incredulity.

'_That sounds about right__...__'_

* * *

"Boromir!" Aragorn called, approaching the Pavilion at a steady pace.

"Aragorn," he answered, turning toward the ranger. Barely had he taken a step out of the large tent when his attention was caught anew. "Where are you going?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

"To the woods," he replied, gesturing behind him. "The elf has disappeared off somewhere, it seems."

"Mmm," Aragorn said, glancing around. "I know."

"Where has he flitted off to? Gone to search for his fair Nimrodel?"

Aragorn smiled lightly, his lips creasing at the corners at Boromir's small jest as he stepped closer to the man.

"He has gone to find company in his kin; he will be back soon to rest – an example you should follow."

He looked at Boromir pointedly, no words needed to convey his message.

Boromir sighed, and after a long moment found comfort in confiding to the ranger. "I will find no rest here tonight, friend. Far too much weighs on my mind."

Aragorn gave him a knowing, sympathetic look, clapping him hard on the shoulder in an unmistakable gesture of camaraderie.

"As on mine, friend..." he replied. "As on mine..."

Boromir highly doubted the man truly understood the direness and empty desperation he felt, yet he nodded in solemn agreement, anyways. He had no need for confrontation this night; not when all he wished for was peace.

"I have not seen you so reticent through this whole journey, Boromir," Aragorn spoke, looking at him in concern. "Surely the words of Galadriel have not affected you so?"

"Of course not!" he replied adamantly, forcing away any feelings of doubt that may have lain visible upon his face. "The men of Gondor are honest and true; we will not be swayed by the words of a sorceress."

"No matter how fair or wise?"

"No matter! I have nothing to hide. I am no longer weary,. I require nothing more than a place for solitary thought; there is much to be decided in the days to come. I do not wish to linger here – not while my people fight alone and suffer in desperation."

"I understand your pain, Boromir, but hastening our exit will not help them," Aragorn replied slowly, his tone of sympathy unchanging. "The greatest hope for them now is the destruction of the Ring. Men alone cannot undo the power of Mordor. Even the proud men of Gondor must know when to ask for help and accept defeat. This war cannot be won by swords alone – if your people were here, they would understand that."

"But they are not here, ranger!" he replied angrily. "They are leagues away, toiling day and night for survival, all while hope fades in oceans from our walls. They have little left to hope for, and even less to fight for. How can we stay here and idle away our days while men are dying and their women mourning?" he exclaimed, his emotions breaking upon the ranger like tidal waves upon the rocks of Dol Amroth. "I am weary, yes, but I will always have strength left as long as my heart remains true. Your heart may lie in these woods of gold and green, but mine lies in the halls of Minas Tirith, with my brother and my people. Do not preach to me of wars and battle like I know nothing of it! I have dedicated my life and given all I have to it; not for love of arrow or steel, but for love of my people. I know and wish for nothing more than to fight for their safety!"

Aragorn remained passive and silent, listening wordlessly as Boromir released his anger, internalized for far too long. For decades had the people of Gondor looked to their Captain-General to lead, and for too long had he been forced to suffer in silence. Aragorn could hold no grudge against him; their motives were one and the same. Neither wanted anything more than the safety of their people, and both would willingly give their lives to see it - of that no one could doubt.

After a moment of silence, naught between them but the sound of hundreds of fair Elven voices singing their sorrows in a celestial harmony, Boromir spoke again, this time his words and tone once more calm and at peace. The dam may have broken within the hardened captain, but it was quickly repaired and there was no trace of the flood of emotions that had only moments before burst forth. Not so easily would he be goaded into showing weakness.

"There has been far too much talk of war tonight, friend," he said, turning away from Aragorn and readying to leave. "I am off for a little while."

"And where do you go?"

"To find answers," he replied solemnly, never glancing back.

Steadily he moved away from the ranger, the sound of his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the forest as they fell hard upon the ground.

"Farewell!"

"Yes," Aragorn replied after a moment, watching his retreat. "Farewell."

* * *

Just inside the opening of the pavilion Vivienne stood, Sam by her side, silent and unmoving. Neither dared speak nor even breathe lest their presence be noticed and wrath be taken upon them for their eavesdropping.

Silently Aragorn followed Boromir into the trees, just stopping short of his path and turning another way. Beside her Sam released a tortured sigh of relief, one that was quickly joined by her own.

"Well, now," he spoke, his eyes still slightly wide, the shock of Boromir's words not yet having left him. "Who would of gone and thought Mister Boromir had that in him! I told you all along your fighting ain't had nothing to do with you!" he chided, crossing his arms looking up at her. "If I had all that worry locked up inside of me you can sure well think I might be a mite bit moody as well!"

Vivienne remained silent, watching outside the realms of the sheltered Pavilion.

"Yeah, I guess you're right, Sam..." she replied, barely listening to the young hobbit.

"Of course I'm right! I may not know too much, but I know people!" he said. "Now, where did my frying pan go and make off too? I swear on my gaffer's grave, if that scallywagging, rabble-rouser Peregrin made off with it again, I'll have his head on a platter!"

"I'll have you know I did no such thing, Samwise Gamgee!" Pippin called out indignantly from somewhere inside the tent, his voice accompanied by the loud snickering of Merry.

"All right, that's quite enough, you two!" he replied angrily, entering the tent. "Now give it back or I'll have your heads – I swear it!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about! Do you, Merry?

"Nope! You, Pip?"

"Not a clue!"

"That's it, I'm counting to five, and then there's going to be trouble!"

Vivienne rolled her eyes in exasperation, her stomach rumbling uncomfortably. She had to side with Sam on this one; she was tired and hungry, and needed one or the other need fulfilled.

Slowly she turned around and made her way back into the tent, well prepared to do whatever she may have too to get some decent food.

"Ah hah! Got it!" Sam cried victoriously, to the groans of irritation from the others.

The disappointment did not last long, however, as within minutes the hobbits were immersing themselves in the smell of frying, crispy bacon, appearing determined that the sheer power of their minds could encourage it too cook faster.

'_Well,'_ she thought, glancing at the other hobbits and back to the pan as her stomach rumbled once more._ 'I guess it's worth a shot...'_

'_Come on, bacon...'_

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed it! :) Please review!!!!! :)**


	18. Chapter 17

**Hi guys, sorry this chapter took so long! I hope you enjoy it! I was working on it for forever! :)**

**A huge thanks to all my reviewers, TwiDawnLight, HornOfGondor2, Roranon, Isah Underhill, DDEC, Jen-Pongo, Valinor's Twilight, Saerwen, Gaslight, Dimari, Summer and Dementra. I love you guys so much! Thank you! xoxo**

**And an extra huge thanks, as always, to my wonderful, incredibly supportive beta Gaslight! xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo.**

* * *

The forest was strangely silent as Boromir began navigating its vast depths, naught but the loud crunching of leaves beneath his feet and the sound of heavy footsteps to be heard as he delved ever deeper.

He knew it was unwise to wander so far from the epicentre of the small, makeshift city, yet he cared not, so grave and weighty were his thoughts. He remained vigilant nonetheless, long since accustomed to the art of watchful reflection. It had been many years since all of Arda was safe and at peace, long before the stretch of his memory, and there were few who would now walk outside their own homes without the constant knowledge of the horrors that lurked there, hidden in every shadow.

It had been over half a fortnight since the company had arrived in Lorien and Boromir had begun his silent musings, yet the woods seemed no less sinister, and the lady no less menacing. The forest was fair, yes, its magnificence far greater than his most vivid of dreams, yet no matter the depths of its loveliness, its beauty still felt empty and unfulfilling to his weary mind.

His head was clouded with thoughts of darkness and despair, and his heart was sore, still not accepting of the dull ache that had shrouded it since the moment of his departure. The Elven Witch's words were vile and unwholesome, and added yet one more torturous thought to his already burdened mind as he was grudgingly forced to bear it. And once more, as they had so often, his thoughts turned back towards his home, his body silent and unconsciously turned to face it as though its very nearness urged his heart onwards, drawing it ever closer.

What Faramir would not have given to lay his eyes upon such a sight, or to meet the Lord and Lady of whom so many of his childhood fantasies had laid upon. No doubt it would have been the highlight of his life to dwell in this majestic bliss, such was his brother's natural inclinations; he had always found much comfort and love in learning and lore, so very different from Boromir.

Yet no matter how hard he tried to understand it, to entertain his brother's fanciful notions of life and the world, he could find no love for the likes beyond old tales of battles and the glorious courage brought with them.

But regardless of how harsh the differences in penchants, true to the nature of the two brothers were they; one a hunter, a killer, a tamer of men and slayer of beasts, the other temperate and gentle in both manner and speech, his actions placid and his thoughts far too naive. They were The nurturer and the protector, the oldest and queerest of sacred relations, and though it was strange, it was something Boromir strongly missed.

Hard as he tried to fight it, a small, wry smile could not help but trespass at the corner of his lips as his thoughts were caught in the memories of his family; father, brother, uncle, cousins. Absurd as he knew it was, to find so much comfort in thoughts of home, he could not help but long for it ceaselessly, the unrelenting weight of memories - both sorrowful and glad - heavy upon all that he did.

The small joy he had felt, however, quickly fell from his face as the loud rustling of the nearby bushes forced all other thoughts from him, and his body snapped to attention. Without thought his hand laid itself upon his sword, ever ready at his side for the bittersweet taste of blood.

His mind rushed, hastening to deduce the cause of the disturbance and the identity of the intruder upon his sacred spot.

The rustling and clomping of footsteps upon the path was too loud for the ranger, his talents unmatched as he moved through the woods like a sylph - yet clumsy and hard footed still compared to the gentle steps of the Elves. And they were too heavy for the hobbits - too light for the dwarves, and were unaccompanied by the usual ugly, black speech of the orcs.

He relaxed his hand upon his blade, coming to an undoubted conclusion of whose presence encroached upon his own.

He sighed resignedly, in irritated relief.

"What do you want, little girl?" he called out dully to the brambles, yet to catch a glance of her small, dumpy form.

"Boromir?" the voice questioned, her tone confused and surprised, resounding widely through the woods as if unsure of his position, and confirming his suspicions. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he replied skeptically, watching silent and unmoving as she finally appeared, fighting her way free of the tangled branches that ensnared her, tumbling to the ground haphazardly in her haste.

He made no move to help her, despite his inbred urge to aid, full in the knowledge that the gesture would be wasted and useless on the girl. Her awkward, ham-fisted nature was ingrained and altogether beyond any of his assistance, so instead he relaxed once more, leaning back against the tree where he sat.

"I was just looking around," she answered, scrambling unevenly to her feet and attempting to brush off the numerous thistles that clung to her body, more than a few already distressing her hair into an untidy snarl. "What are you doing here?"

He was silent for several moments, ignoring her question and instead watching with mild amusement as she attempted to free herself of her uncomfortable woodly adornments.

He finally sighed, taking pity on the useless girl and wordlessly pointing out the many pieces she had missed within her hair, a place that had gone utterly unnoticed in her zealous search to eradicate them all.

"Attempting to find some semblance of peace," he finally answered, continuing to watch her struggle, a single eyebrow raised in incredulity. "Though with you and the hobbits on the loose, perhaps I should have known better than to try and bother."

She looked up suddenly, a queer smile pulling at her lips as she looked him hard in the eyes. It was the first memory he had of her doing so without anger or discomfort burning within their depths; now there only lay the slightest hints of mirth and humour. She silently dropped her arms from their desperate ravaging of her tangled mop of hair, her smile widening even farther as she continued to stare.

"Yes?" he responded coolly, slightly disconcerted by her strange change in behaviour.

"So Pippin was right, then? You really are trying to find a way to escape from here."

He chuckled slightly, shaking his head and turning away with less annoyance than he thought he would have felt.

While the girl continued to annoy him to no end - no great surprise for one of such an uncouth upbringing - he would not deny commendation where it was due. Perhaps the attack in Moria was not needless after all, nor was this torture spent in Lorien.

She has grown considerably since her time spent within the mountains, better equipping herself for survival in a harsher world than which she was obviously accustomed too. Certainly the woods and grief were at least partially to thanks, and if nothing else her loud and obnoxious ways had ceased, even if only a little. Now she stood more genuine and earnest before him than he no doubt would have seen her in the company of others.

He wondered briefly if it was not the influence of company that swayed her frustrating ways; the few times they had been alone together, if nothing else her cheerful fakeness had disappeared. It mattered little, however; they would be gone soon enough, and he would have no need to ever see her again.

"You never answered," she stated calmly, interrupting his thoughts and moving slowly towards him, her gaze searching as he turned his head back towards her. "Is this where you've been going every day?"

"Yes," he replied finally, many long seconds of silence passing while he weighed his options. There would be little chance for retreat he quickly deduced, at least not without her following or breaking the amicable peace they had so fragilely built. There now seemed little to do but to bear her until she grew bored and left of her own accord, a thing she had already done so often.

Her incredibly short attention span was one thing he truly was grateful for.

"Why?"

He gazed hard at her, his glance stern and eyebrows raised, in part annoyed at her queries, something she had no right questioning of someone of his standing, the other part surprised at the lack of annoyingly cheerful curiosity held within her voice. Her tone was now softer and her eyes more dull, none of the mischievous sparkle lingering there any longer.

It took no scholar to realize she had other motivations for being there. He was sure of what grew within her mind. He had seen her eyes grow darker in the days since their arrival, as steady as the sun faded and the moon would rise. Something darker was bearing upon her mind, and he had little doubt as to what _it_ was.

And now she sought the company and refuge of others, whether to make amends with those she had offended, or simply that she felt the lonely emptiness of the woods as painfully as he did, he did not know. He would not begrudge her company, however, even if it was only to appease her long enough to make her leave.

"You keep doing that."

"Hmm?" he questioned, genuinely caught off guard by her outburst.

"Ignoring me. You do that a lot; just stare off into space and then get kind of angry."

"I do not get angry!" he snapped, recognizing the hypocritical irony of his tone and words immediately.

Luckily for her sake, she had finally developed the tact to not name it.

He sighed, annoyance flaring once more as she stood ever nearer to him, eager to rid himself of her presence.

"You know perfectly well why I come here; even a fool could discern it! Now why don't you spit out why you are following me and then leave a man in peace!"

"I was just trying to do the same thing as you," she replied, plopping down gracelessly beside him. "I had no idea you were here."

"Well it appears that I am, and you should not be."

The uncomfortable silence could be cut with a knife, so thick had it grown in the passing minutes, neither bothering to speak, no unharsh words seeming necessary.

She spoke finally, disturbing the quiet with her new strangely softer demeanour.

"I heard you and Aragorn arguing – outside the tents, a few weeks ago."

He simply grunted in response, in no mood to speak of that which consumed his thoughts and feelings.

"I, uh... I know it probably doesn't mean much coming from me, but I know how you feel..." she said, her voice dropping quieter still. "To be so far away from home."

He turned back towards her, watching her silently as she stared at the ground, fiddling with her wrist and her hair concealing her expression from his view. He noted with impartiality that despite her effort, she had still missed several brambles. It seemed strangely suited to her odd, peculiar ways.

"Have you heard any word from Galadriel? About your land – and that trinket?" he questioned, nodding towards the locket that continued to hang upon her breast.

"No; I think she's avoiding it, to be honest."

"Not surprisingly. She seems to have little on her mind save death, torture and destruction."

"Yeah, no kidding..."

He glanced at her, surprised to hear her agreement. He had sat alone in wonder for many days, thinking only he had not been fooled by her spell or dark beauty.

"You agree?"

"Oh, yeah - that woman gives me the creeps."

For once he was not irritated by her crude behaviour. Dealing with annoying peasant girls was a small price to pay for the silent smiting of one's enemies; even if it was by simply childish undermining.

"I'm not saying anything more, though - she's probably listening to us right now."

He snorted with laughter, the notion not a far stretch for his mind to imagine, or the Elven woman's to do.

"And then she will work more of her failed magic and leave us as in awe of her mighty wisdom as she has done with the Dwarf."

It was her turn to smile in good humour at his words.

"You are here. Where are the others?" he questioned curtly, the previous jest fading to nothingness and soon being forgotten as their minds turned to other matters.

"The hobbits are eating, Gimli's sleeping, Aragorn's wandering and Legolas went off to join the Super-Best-Friend-Club..." she finished, soon adding a quick "never mind," to his dubious stare and silent question at her attempted jest.

He watched as her eyes and attentions turned back to her wrists. She sat wringing as she had so many times before, an ugly, worn, braided piece of leather, adorned with the occasion cheap, odd looking piece, obviously meant as some meagre attempt at replicating a precious jewel.

"Do you know what day it is?" she asked promptly, her gaze not leaving the mangy thing and the question seemingly out of nowhere.

"Monday," he answered, ignoring a brief moment of confusion at the strange question. "Why?"

"No, I mean dates. You know, the first, the second, the third..." she replied, trailing off with a pointed stare and gesture.

"The twenty-fifth," he answered.

"Shit."

His mild disgust at her continuing foul-mouthed behaviour was tempered only by the angry, highly saddened look that quickly crossed her features.

"Why?" he questioned again, unsure if he wanted the answer.

"I missed my brother's birthday."

"Excuse me?"

"My little brother – his birthday was last week. I missed it."

Boromir was at a loss with how to reply. He was no savant when it came to expressing and comforting broken emotions, and even worse still when they were in the form of a woman, yet there were few who understood the pains of missing home better than he.

"What day?" he questioned finally, deciding distraction was the best tactic in this particular situation of war.

He had seen many horrors in his day, and few numbered the confusion and fear that accompanied a hysterical woman.

"The twenty-first," she answered glumly, his desperate attempt at a diversion failing miserably.

He silently braced himself for the torrential downpour of tears that no doubt would come, and in one last, desperate attempt, revealed the final piece he had in his possession to concede.

"As was mine."

He was silent, unsure of her next reaction and cursing the baffling, unbridled, mystifyingly wayward emotions of women when she finally spoke through pathetic sniffles.

It seemed he had acted not a moment too soon.

"What?"

"My birthday; it was the twenty-first of this month, as well."

"Really?" she questioned, turning to look at him sharply, confusion clear upon her face as she become oblivious to her previous turmoil.

With a sour look to the sky, he reminded himself why he preferred the unwavering company of men.

"Really," he mimicked.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"I hardly saw a reason to celebrate."

"Wow... You obviously don't have my parents then."

For a moment, Boromir was genuinely surprised.

"I always presumed birthdays were not something celebrated amongst the... masses," he replied, choosing his words delicately. Her emotional tirade may possibly have been subdued, but he would not tempt fate by calling her a peasant to her face, especially when the doubtless reaction was of such an uncomfortable matter.

"And by masses you mean a serf or whatever the hell else you keep calling me?" she answered skeptically, raising her eyebrows in annoyance and making it very clear that she had caught his meaning. "Whatever. Where I come from, birthdays are a big deal. The whole shebang – cake, cards, presents, parties, those stupid little cone shaped hats with the frilly stuff at the top and those elastics that are a damned chin-fat hazard... You don't get all that here?"

"... Apparently not..." he replied, utterly bewildered by her strange descriptions, having no inclination to hear another one of her outlandish attempts at an elaboration.

"That has to suck, though – being all alone on your birthday. No wonder you're so grumpy all the time."

He chose not to dignify her incredibly insulting comment with a response. He had quickly learned that with this woman, silence was the best defence. If nothing else it would make her eventually go away.

"Here," she announced suddenly, pulling at the offending leather on her wrist. "I know it's not much to look at – my brother made it for me a few years ago – but it's all I've got, unless you want a mangy Sex-Pistols t-shirt."

She did not wait for a response or comment from Boromir, however, before promptly removing it from her wrist and beginning to attach it to his own.

"What are you doing?" he questioned, taken highly aback.

"It's a birthday present. Again, as I said, not much, but it's all I've got – take it or leave it."

He made no reply for several seconds, watching in a mixture of awe and trepidation as she finished the tight knot upon his wrist.

"Happy Birthday..." she finished lamely, beginning to move gracelessly to her feet.

"What is the meaning of this?" he spoke finally, unsure of what to say at the confusing gesture.

"No one should be alone for their birthday. Plus, you know, you saved my life how many times already? An ugly homemade bracelet for a missed birthday present doesn't even begin to cover the interest."

After several long moments Boromir finally nodded, removing his eyes from the ugly wretched thing and recognizing the gesture for what it was, not simply the worn piece of material it came in the form of.

He was not utterly oblivious.

"Thank you," he replied, nodding in understanding.

She gave him a small smile of thanks for accepting the token that had come in the form of her own, and turned back the way she had initially come, barely taking the time to mutter a quick "you're welcome,".

Within seconds she had lost herself in the thick brambles once more, naught but the loud clopping of clumsy feet to be heard as she made her exit.

Boromir sat in silence, reflecting what had just transpired.

Words could not adequately describe how bizarre that woman truly was, though he admitted with no small amount of grudgingness that her heart was in the right place.

Even if it did come in the form of a worn, bitten, chewed old bracelet...

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**I knew that Boromir had a birthday somewhere during the quest before he died, and it never told you where, so I figured why not!**

**Anyways, please review! :)**


	19. Chapter 18

**Hi!**

**OK, so last time I posted a chapter, FF went down and no one was able to review, so first off, I would like to say an unbelievably huge thank you to those of you went back and reviewed afterwards (even if you couldn't remember anything about the chapter ;)); it means so much to me to have that kind of loyalty in readers you can't even to know how happy I was! It really made me feel so great that you guys cared enough. :) **

**So thank you Gaslight, HornOfGondor2, DDEC, Roranon, Valinor'sTwilight, and Summer. And a huge thanks and wave out to my new readers RavenDiesel1 and PhantomOfTheMusical (you have no idea what a relief it was to read your review, and have someone feel that way! :))**

**And a huge thanks (as always) to my beta Gaslight. XXX**

* * *

"Now where is it that you've gone and run off to?" Sam questioned accusingly as Vivienne entered the tent.

"Nowhere important. Why?"

"Because you've been gone for hours and by the looks of things, I'd say you've gone and taken half the forest back with ya, that's why!"

"Oh... Really? I hadn't noticed," she replied, realizing for the first time that Boromir's crabby, offhanded remarks about her appearance were not entirely unfounded.

She moved swiftly in front of the sole mirror held within the large, make-shift housing, and groaned at her dishevelled state. She could hardly argue that she had been met with unfounded criticism over her appearance, and immediately she began yet another haphazard purging of her wild locks.

"Where are the others?" she asked offhandedly, glancing around the room and noting the conspicuous lack of souls present in their temporary home, usually so busy and bustling with life.

There had never before been such an obtrusive quiet over the group, not since the hours after the death of Gandalf when the memories were too near to be pushed aside and forgotten, even if for a little while. Now it seemed strange and eerie, so devoid of its usual warmth and presence, and the silence made her fearful. The unnatural quiet had been the driving force behind her flight from the eerie place hours ago, and now to return only to find it even more desolated than before, was quickly taking its toll upon her.

In recent weeks the silence had become her enemy, one both feared and reviled as it threatened her with desolation. Never had she wanted to return home more, nor had she been so desperate for answers, though she frantically fought to hide it. No words could describe the horror she would feel at the revelation of her sinister and all-consuming thoughts in the dark hours of the night, and she had found herself thanking Boromir profusely in her mind for the small division between herself and the others. She wanted no one to see her tears or catch wind of her desperate longings for salvation. To reveal it to any other would be too much to bear, and leave her feeling dirtier than she knew she already was.

Though she joked about it with Boromir, she bitterly cursed Galadriel and her menacing thoughts - thoughts that had driven her into nothing more than a path of darkness and despair. Her only solace was the knowledge that soon Frodo and the ring would be long gone, though she despaired of it all the same.

She would miss the others, the hobbits most of all, the only members of the company with whom she had truly formed a bond. The others in the Fellowship were far too great to bend to her meagre level, and to expect anything more than consideration and courtesy from such mighty men was naive and foolish. She may have taken their worth for granted in the beginning when there was nothing more than vast emptiness around them far as the eye could see, but it did not stay that way for long. They spent only a short time in Moria, and yet its effects on her could never truly be measured; since the moment she immerged from that desolate place, she could no longer hide herself behind the same simple naivety that she had before – the weighty knowledge of what lurked in this world was far too great. Yet she had her life, and that was more than she could say for another. She owed all the company a great debt of gratitude for what they had done for her, though she had no way to ever repay it.

But soon they would be gone, and she would be all alone once more, surrounded by unfamiliar sights and faces, left to the mercy of a woman she both dreaded and loathed. She was lonely and afraid, and fighting desperately to hide it.

"Well? Have ya?" Sam cut briskly, breaking her away from her unwelcome thoughts.

"Have I what?" she questioned confusedly, realizing for the first time that he had been speaking to her all along.

He groaned audibly, but Vivienne did not think much of it. His annoyance had become palpable over the last few weeks at the extreme lack of effort put in by all the other members of the Fellowship over the maintenance of their new home. All seemed much more content to spend their time wandering aimlessly in the woods, forgetting their pain and worries, even if for a little while. Sam, on the other hand, had been growing ever increasingly agitated and flustered, and Vivienne had learned enough on the matter to know that it was due in no small part to the Lady. And rather than turn to solitude as comfort, he had taken solace in what he knew best: taking care of others, at the expensive of perhaps even his very own welfare.

"Have you gone and seen Boromir? I ain't heard hide nor hair from him, and I ain't the only one, neither! No one seems to know where he's gone and run off to lately."

She was silent for several moments, still turned away from Sam and weighing her answer carefully. Her first inclination was to reveal everything to her small, angry friend and avoid facing the peril of his wrath; however, she could not help but feel a large part of her conscience pulling painfully at her. She had made no promise not to tell that she had found Boromir or to keep secret his confession, yet she still felt that such an admission would be a betrayal of what small confidence he had already placed in her. She chewed her lips in agitated contemplation for several seconds, brushing off the irritated noise of impatience let loose by the young hobbit.

After several long, agonizing seconds, she finally answered, "No idea."

"Now is that so?"

"Yeah – no idea. Sorry."

"Then why'd you go and take so long to answer, missy?"

She cursed silently and involuntarily when she knew her lie had been discovered.

"Because, I, uh..." she began, racking her brain hopelessly for an answer. "I -"

"- Vivienne!" a loud voice cut through her unintelligible ramblings, a stark contrast to the hushed reserve of the tent.

"Aragorn?" she questioned, turning to look bewildered at the ranger. "What are you doing here?" Eagerly she jumping into the new conversation, a quick attempt to change the subject and quite possibly save herself from a sound scolding by the angered hobbit. "I thought you were with Galadriel?"

"I was – that is why I am here. She wishes to speak with you."

"Oh... Really???" she questioned, utterly mystified by the revelation. "Why?"

"I do not know her reasons, though I wish I could tell you more," he replied, giving her a sympathetic look. Her terror of Galadriel was not a closely guarded secret. "Although I assure you, there is nothing to fear."

She still remained frightened, however, and it took several not-so-gentle nudges from Sam to get her moving.

"Come," Aragorn continued, as he began exiting the tent. "I will escort you."

"Help me...!" she muttered quietly to the hobbit, as she hung back, pleading childishly for his aid.

His look was pointed, however, and she was left with no option but to follow the ranger.

She sighed in trepidation, resigned to her fate as she began her silent trudge of indignity towards what she was certain would be an encounter that would not end well.

'_I am completely screwed...'_

* * *

"Please, child, sit..." Galadriel spoke, her voice soft and eerily deep.

No matter how fearful and mistrusting Vivienne may have been, she did not have the courage to deny the woman, and unhesitantly plopped herself down in the grass. She instantly regretted her decision, however, as she began to feel the damp earth soak through the seat of her pants, not only making her highly uncomfortable, but no doubt leaving a humiliating water-stain as well. She was already dreading Boromir's sarcastic remarks about it.

The Elf laughed slightly, her voice echoing throughout the woods, gentle and melodic - unfitting for the woman whose petrifying memory continued to haunt Vivienne's mind.

"Child," she chided gently, "do you really think me so cruel?"

She gestured slightly to the intricately carved stone bench that lay by the whirling fountain, and Vivienne felt her face burn in embarrassment.

"Sorry," she muttered quietly, her cheeks blatantly red hot, ever the consistent foil to her attempts to mask her emotions. She pulled herself up from the ground quickly and scuttled across the clearing, careful to not make eye contact.

"Do not apologize, child. You have done nothing wrong."

She ventured a quick glance at the imposing woman, but realized that she had lingered too long when she again felt the unfamiliar presence within her mind.

"I see you do not appreciate me calling you a child?"

"I... I never said that, Ma'am."

"You did not have to."

'_Dammit,' _she thought angrily.

She knew she could read minds.

"You appear to be quite exceedingly opposed to the title; unusually so, it seems."

"Sorry," Vivienne replied, her gaze remaining fixated on the grass. "I just seem to be getting called that a lot lately."

"I see," she spoke, Galadriel replied, her voice unwavering from the tone in which it had began. "Perhaps because they are speaking the truth?" She paused for a moment, and Vivienne could feel her eyes upon her, studying her carefully. "But you disagree...?"

She flushed heavily once more, feeling increasingly vulnerable and panicked as she realized every singular thought in her head was open to the terrifying woman. She had never felt so violated in her life.

"You do not deny it out loud, but those are indeed yours feelings, are they not?" Galadriel continued, and Vivienne could see from the corner of her eye the sweep of the Elf's dress as she circled her, painfully slowly. "But contest it as you might, a child is what you remain to be – at least for now..."

"What do you mean _for now_?" she questioned, looking her in the eye for the first time.

She had not the courage to maintain the contact for long.

"Simply that you will grow, as all living things grow, and you will change, just as swiftly as the seasons. It is the way of life, and none are exempt from its power - even Galadriel."

"Oh..." was all she managed to stutter out, her nerves increasing rapidly as her imagination swirled. Swiftly the woman was becoming less celestial and more terrifyingly vulture-like as she continued her ceaseless circling, ever closing in around her. There was no doubt in her mind it was quickly evolving into nothing more than a terrorizing game of predator and prey.

"Have you thought of what I told you?" she asked, as Vivienne's nerves began to shatter and break.

"No," she lied, unsure of what it would accomplish against a woman who was obviously probing her mind, yet still unwilling to admit it.

"Is that so?"

"Look," she said, interrupting Galadriel's swirl of questions and attempting desperately to divert it to the questions she needed answered. "All I want to do is go home; I don't care about a stupid ring or a Dark Lord. I just want to go home."

"And the Ring could take you there."

"No, the ring could take me all the way to Mordor and the asshole who's sitting there waiting for it."

"Dear child, for someone who is so insistent on returning home, you certainly seem to be unwilling to do what it takes to get there."

Vivienne remained silent. She could feel herself slowly descending into a world of utter madness.

"What would you say if I were to tell you that you could return to your world, not simply as you are now, but as something far greater than you could ever imagine?"

"I'd say 'No thanks, I'm going to the movies.'"

Galadriellaughed again, obviously unperturbed by the fact that she had no way of knowing what the girl spoke of. It seemed to matter little to her, however, and the cold chill that had settled on Vivienne's spine seemed to deepen mercilessly.

"You use humour to cover your fears..." Galadriel continued. "It is a... unique method, I must say."

Again, Vivienne sat unspeaking.

"Why do you wish to return to your land so desperately? I have seen within your mind, and to you there is little remarkable with which to speak – not compared to how you view ours."

"Because it's my home, and it's where I belong - with Skyscrapers and Concords, not Elves and angry mountains. Not to mention everyone I know and love just happens to be there," she replied. "Don't you understand that at all?"

"I understand that by your own account, spoken aloud or not, you have seen more in your time here than you have ever dreamed of out there. Surely that counts for something?"

"It might if so much of what I've seen wasn't so damn bad!" she replied bitterly. Once again she found herself regretting her inability to control what she said; that and the fact that she only seemed to gain any courage when her anger overtook any coherent thought her mind managed to conjure. "I just want to go home; why is that so hard to understand?"

"Perhaps because that is not what your heart truly desires?"

"Well I guess your ESP is going haywire, because, yes, I think it does."

"We will see," she replied ominously. "You may change your mind before the end."

Despite all the previous fear she had felt and the overwhelming feeling of danger that would not leave her, she could not help but look at the woman with a mixture of blatant anger and incredulity. She held her tongue, however, no matter how hard it fought her natural pessimistic tendencies, full in the knowledge of how vengeful the woman may be, and in no mood to cross her.

She remained silent, watching the grass and waiting for her to speak.

Several minutes of silence passed, weighing heavily in the air and consuming all around it before Galadriel finally spoke.

"If you have no desire to remain in my company, I will not force you; though many can only dream of such an honour."

Still Vivienne said nothing, fully aware that she had already said too much, and cursing the fact that her mouth never felt the need to consult her brain before speaking.

"Very well," Galadrielspoke, her tone one of strong finality. "You may go – we will speak again soon."

Quickly Vivienne got up to leave, eager to take her chances and retreat when she realized her own questions had yet to be answered.

"What about the locket?" she blurted out, watching as Galadriel began to turn away.

"Excuse me?"

"The locket – that's why I'm here, isn't it? You're supposed to know something that they don't."

"I have no knowledge that Lord Elrond does not already possess."

"But he said you knew -"

"- Now is not the time for such matters. We will discuss it another day."

" - But."

"_Another day_," she repeated, her tone losing all of its former niceties as she turned and began walking away. "Take some rest in my woods; find some respite while you still may," she said, never glancing back as she moved.

"So you're just leaving?" Vivienne called out, the silence answering her question.

She sighed, turning away and lost in thoughts, oblivious to all else around her. The Elven woman's words confused and frightened her, and the painful lump in stomach continued to twist and grow.

'_While you still may...?'_ she thought, hazy and bewildered as her mind rehashed all the hour's previous events. She had come seeking answers, yet all she had received were riddles that left her feeling both frightened alone.

It seemed that day by day her hope was destined to grow bleaker in this eerie place, as did the possibility that she would ever find her way home...


	20. Chapter 19

**Hi,**

**Sorry once again for the long update! I did it a lot faster this time originally, but it turned out looking as such, so you should all be incredibly greatful to my wonderful beta, Gaslight, for not allowing me to inflict it's horror upon you! :P **

**A huge thanks to my reviewers, Roranon, Dimari, SSJKarigan, HornOfGondor2, Gaslight, DDEC, RainbowRabbit (Hi there!) and Demetra (sorry about the extra N; for some reason I always thought it was Dementra!). You all have no idea how much all your kind words keep me writing! :)**

**And as always, an extra huge thanks to my lovely beta, Gaslight!**

**Oh, and if you have the chance, please review! :)**

* * *

"The lady requested your presence?"

The voice of Boromir was cold and clipped, and bombarded upon Vivienne the instant she stepped within the pavilion. She was exhausted and bitter, and beginning to grow tired of the constant barrage every time she walked through the door.

"So?" she snapped sullenly, not bothering to hide her anger or disdain.

"Why did she wish to speak with you?"

"Don't ask me – maybe she thought I wasn't scared enough already and decided to take it up another notch."

"I assume that it did not go as planned?" he questioned sombrely, his tone holding no surprise.

"Got it in one..."

She looked around the room for the first time, noticing instantly that she and Boromir were once again alone. It seemed that the company had little stomach for the stuffy confines of the tent, and even Sam had eventually been persuaded away into the woods, no doubt a mammoth undertaking.

"It's official, though," she continued, after several long moments of tense silence while she studied the room around her. "The whole mind rape thing she's got going on. She's been playing with us the whole time – it's just one giant mind-fuck."

Boromir sighed, moving to sit upon a nearby chair, his forehead furrowed and his eyes smouldering with hate.

"As I suspected," he replied darkly, his tone one of agitation and anger. "What did she speak of?"

Vivienne moved further within the pavilion, sitting down heavily opposite the imposing man.

"Nothing worth mentioning; I think I was only there so she could do a little more mental prodding," she said, chewing intermittently on her thumb. "She's really starting to freak me out, the way she keeps playing all these games with us. My brain feels like it's just been poked with a giant stick."

"I am hardly surprised," Boromir replied. "My brother spoke often of her and the rumours of her abilities, though with more wonder than the malice she deserves. I had thought it nothing more than an old-wives' tale, but I usually err in such matters."

"So you've heard of her before this, then?"

"Many times," he replied. "You would be hard pressed to find a man, woman or child not weaned upon the legends of old."

"And the old being Galadriel?"

"Among other things, yes."

"Well, what else did you hear?" she questioned apprehensively.

"Scores of tales, both charming and vile, though they try to hide it."

"... Such as?"

Boromir groaned again, his exasperation at her ignorance clear. Vivienne took no notice, however, long since accustomed to his quick temper and short fuse, unwilling to let it irk her any longer. And though she was fully capable of withstanding his haughty, sometimes biting remarks, she occasionally found herself wondering whether or not he had any children back home. She had the distinct impression he was not someone prone to patience or nurturing, but from the little he had revealed to her or the company, he very well may have. Either way, she could not help but be inclined to feel pity for them, their father so absent and temperamental. Royal or not, it would surely be a hard life.

"Many stories of Elves and their deeds," Boromir answered after much silence, "more than a few of which revolved around the Sorceress and her powers - the way she bewitches all men who fall within her grasp, enchanting them and never allowing them to escape from within her trap."

"But she hasn't fooled you?"

"Of course she has not! What kind of man do you take me for?" he replied, his tone indignant as the all-pervading air of pride surged to the forefront of his persona once more. "The men of Gondor will not be so easily corrupted by strange beauty and false promises! Others may fall into her snare, but the men of my people will not be so easily bewitched!"

She looked at him hard and sceptically, lost yet again by his unwavering view of the worth of his people.

"You really think a lot of your country, don't you?" she asked, trying for all the life of her to understand his wanton views and attitudes, so warped in his vision of unerring utopia.

"Of course I do, girl! A man can be no greater than those who stand by his side! Without strength and valour clear in the hearts of your people, you become no better than the wild men of the East, raiding and pillaging, taking what they will with no remorse or sense of honour!"

"And Gondors are nothing like that, then?"

"Gondorians," he replied visibly bristling at the unintended insult to his people.

"Fine, sorry, _Gondorians_," she echoed sarcastically, forcing herself to bite back the innocuous comments that rolled rampantly through her mind. "You don't have to be so damn touchy about it."

"I am far from touchy, little girl. If any man had made such an insult to my people they would lay in waste at my feet."

"And what, because I'm a girl that makes me special?" she questioned sardonically.

"No - because you have proven that you are completely incapable of containing yourself in any way," he replied, glowering at her. "That and the fact that you appear to be the only person left with some sense of sanity in this accursed place."

"So then I'm not entirely crazy?" she questioned, ignoring his first remark. "Everyone else really is way too happy to be here?"

"No, you are not in folly," he replied, sighing wearily. "It is the others in the company who have fallen into utter madness."

She remained silent and unresponsive for several long moments, mulling over his words in her mind, unsure of what to say, but quickly cursing the quiet. Flushing red with embarrassment, she made swift, flustered apologies as the loud, obnoxious growling of her stomach broke the tense silence. It had been several hours since she had eaten, and for the first time she began to realize her hunger in full; she was thankful that Boromir appeared to pay no notice.

"Want a sandwich?" she asked, rising to her feet and seeing no reason to wait. The others in the company would undoubtedly come meandering in soon, no different from the way they always did, but she could not force her stomach into compliance any longer.

Boromir turned his eyes slowly back towards her and nodded dully, his mind obviously weary and burdened.

"If you are up."

She made no reply as she busied herself with the preparation, thankful that Sam had left his things strewn about and easily accessible. While the Elves of Lorien had offered a great many delicacies to the Fellowship at every opportunity, as time wore on Vivienne became less and less inclined to touch anything that was gifted from Galadriel. After today, she refused it all.

It was a good thing she liked sandwiches, she thought gloomily as she continued her preparations; she had a feeling that she would be eating a great deal of them for many days to come.

She continued to clatter around the makeshift kitchen for several minutes, utterly novice in her skills yet determined nonetheless. While she worked, she thought long and hard upon what had been said, Boromir remaining passive and quiet, leaving Vivienne with no choice but to break the silence.

"You know, you still haven't answered me about Gondor," she said, sucking on her finger after placing the bacon in the pan.

"What do you wish to know?" he questioned levelly as he sat watching her work.

"I don't know- what they're like, I guess. You mention your people a lot, but you've never really said too much about them."

"And you wish to know more?"

"Yeah," she replied, "if you don't mind."

"I do not."

The silence was impenetrable as he sat deep in contemplation, lost in thought as he fought to find words that were fitting. Time ticked away slowly as Vivienne sat unmoving, waiting patiently for him to speak.

"She is a cruel mistress," he lamented, after another few moments of quiet reflection. Vivienne noted with surprise the vague, hazy look that clouded his eyes, as if all other thoughts had faded and he was left alone, lost and drowning in an ocean of memories. "One both merciless and unforgiving; pitiless even, in her own, terrible way... Yet despite all her burden, my heart longs for her as relentlessly as the sea."

"You make it sound so bitter-sweet," she replied, watching him with the slightest hint of awe, having never yet seen him look so tranquil or at peace.

"As she is..."

They sat in silence for many long seconds, save for the small chuckle that fell from Boromir's lips, his eyes lighting in a way that almost caused her heart to skip a beat. Had she not been so wary, she may have believed that for even an instant he had released the demons from their heavy weight upon his shoulders and allowed himself to be free.

"You have known not joy nor wonder until you have gazed upon her as the morning rises," he muttered softly, a yearning smile upon his lips, "or seen the sun gleaming across the Tower of Ecthelion, lighting the path to Osgiliath and turning even the leaves of the White Tree towards her radiance."

He looked her directly in the eye as he spoke, and left no doubt in Vivienne's mind that he truly believed that of which he said.

"You could search the world a thousand times over and I promise you, girl, you would find no beauty to match the magnificence that lies within her; her every street, her every tower, her every jagged stone. And never will you find a heart that beats as truly as the one that spurs her - that drives our people ever onwards, through darkness and through light for days uncounted."

A wistful serenity like none she had never known laced his every heartfelt word, and she was not dishonest in her awe of both man and city.

"It sounds beautiful," she admitted softly, realizing for the first time the true extent of the love and loyalty he held for his people. To Boromir, it wasn't simply a country; it was his life. The source of his every hope, his every dream, his every longing and his every sorrow, and he cherished it unconditionally. For all the splendour and grandeur the hobbits had tried to impress upon her of their beloved Shire, it now paled in comparison to the glorious vision of Gondor. How could it not when it was to come into competition with something that managed to inspire such unending devotion and loyalty from such a usually cold and distant man.

For the first time since she had awoken under the strange stars of Arda, she truly wished in her heart of hearts to find herself standing in front of something other than her home, even if only for a moment – simply long enough to glimpse its majesty.

For many minutes they sat in silence, the first time they had done so in each other's presence in total comfort. Vivienne found no need to speak, and even had she been inclined to do so, she would have had no idea of what to say.

The peaceful reserve that had fallen across the two was quickly broken, however, as she was brought back from her wistful dreams of Gondor by a searing pain that cut along her arm.

She hissed loudly, pulling her hand away from the fire and out of harm's way. In front of her the bacon sizzled, splashing grease far and wide, burning her viciously and without pity.

All she had time to glance was the vague, blurry silhouette of Boromir as he started past her, pulling the pan off of the fire and preventing any more injury from the merciless flames. She said nothing, though, instead continuing to hold her arm in distress, silently willing the throbbing injuries to subside and preparing herself for another cold bombardment from the man, chiding her for her foolish actions.

She could barely contain her surprise when none came.

Instead she felt her arm pried away from where she held it carefully, his touch an attempt to be gentle but gaining in insistence as she tried to resist.

"No, it's fine, just leave it," she whimpered, fighting back tears and angry that she could not control them.

"You are injured – you require aid."

"I'm fine, really," she reasoned uselessly.

"Allow me to assist you, or I will fetch the ranger," he threatened, his impatience growing as his temper.

"Don't bother, I'm ok!"

"Clearly, you are not!"

"Clearly, I am," she bit back bitterly as a stray tear fell from her eyes.

She hid her face miserably, unwilling to give him yet one more reason to goad her for her weakness, yet found little need. He ignored her distress entirely, this time forcefully prying her arm away from where she held it guardingly.

"What are you doing?" she whined miserably.

"If you will not comply, then I will have to do this forcefully!"

"Do what forcefully? Oww!" she cried out as he pulled at her injured skin.

"See the extent of your wounds."

"And to do that you need to hurt me even more?"

"Do not be foolish, girl, it is not that painful!"

"Speak for yourself," she snapped bitterly, yanking her arm out of his grip. "I'm not a soldier like you, ok! I'm a big, whiny baby, remember! You don't have to be so damn rough with me!"

"And what else would you have me to do?" he questioned aggravatedly, rubbing at his eyes in impatience at her foolishness.

"You could try being a little nicer, or at least pretend to have some compassion!" she snapped.

Boromir exhaled loudly, still visibly irritated with her but attempting to control his temper admirably.

"I am... sorry," he replied slowly, his words coming with a great deal of effort, though at least in part honestly contrite. "All of my experience with injuries has been involving soldiers; I do not deal with many women in distress." Despite his words of apology, she still shot him a somewhat sour look as she nursed her arm, not attempting to conceal her discomfort. As she continued to squirm in pain, complaining loudly despite his obvious contention of the extent of the injury, he added dryly under his breath, "something I am now thankful for."

It was not long, however, before he lost his patience once more, prying her arm away again unceremoniously.

"I will attempt to be more... considerate," he promised, cutting off her words as she opened her mouth to protest. "I have been around many wounds in my life, more often fatal than not, and the plight of a grease burn is not beyond even my meagre talents - though I fear you would be better suited with my brother to the task."

She allowed him to continue without contention any longer, and though he was still rougher than Vivienne would have liked, she marked the attempt he made, clumsy as it may have been.

"That's the second time you've mentioned your brother today," she said, turning the subject to other matters in a desperate attempt to dissuade herself from the constant throbbing of her arm. It seared unceasingly as Boromir worked, examining it carefully to determine the severity of damage.

"Is that so?" he questioned offhandedly, barely listening as he laboured on. "I was not aware."

"Yes – you said he talked a lot about Elves and all the other weird things."

Boromir chuckled slightly as he pulled over a nearby bucket filled with water. "That is not quite what I recount, but you are not far from the mark," he replied, gently proceeding to immerse her arm in the cool liquid.

She said nothing, instead intent on watching the water shimmer around her arm, clearer and brighter than any she had seen on earth.

"The wounds are not severe," he stated, looking up at her for the first time since he had began. "You will be fine."

"Always good to know," she replied feebly, offering him a weak smile. "And not too shabby a job for someone with no experience," she continued, still smiling and gesturing to her arm as she offered up an unspoken admission of thanks. "I bet even your brother couldn't do a better job."

"Then you do not know Faramir," he said, the mood in the tent lightening considerably as he allowed her to chance another of his rare smiles.

"You mean the book worm extraordinaire?"

Boromir chuckled lightly, removing her arm from the water and studying its progression in detail. "He has always held a great deal of affection for books and lore," he explained fondly, "whether it was studying the tales of dragons or fighting them in the halls!"

Vivienne laughed, feeling genuine gladness in her heart that Boromir managed to hold such affection in his heart. Even if it only revealed itself in uncomplicated tales of youth and memories long since bygone, it was a welcome change nonetheless. It made him seem more human somehow.

"He kind of sounds like my brother," she confessed, shrugging her shoulders casually and watching him treat her arm carefully.

"Then if he was anything like Faramir was at that age, he would not be sorry to see a ghastly elder sibling go."

She snorted in good humour, willingly acknowledging the truth behind his statement, even if the thought of not being missed stung in her heart.

"Oh, trust me," she replied, "I'm sure he wasn't."

The air inside the pavilion grew lighter, as were their hearts as they continued to laugh and divulge, glad to forget the troubles of the lady that weighed heavily upon their shoulders. However fragile the bond, it was comforting to find another who shared the same burden as they, both united in their contempt and scorn for her.

And soon Vivienne found herself acknowledging the fact that, despite her continued resentment towards the infuriating man, even having a maddening, exasperating comrade when faced with such certain turmoil was better than none.

Even if it would only be for a little while.


	21. Chapter 20

_**AUTHORS NOTE! PLEASE READ!**_

_**First off, I**_'_**m back! :)**_

_**Sorry for the long wait; I**_'_**ve just had total writers block, but hopefully that**_'_**s over now. I was having a really hard time doing what I thought I needed to, but I finally decided that it was just better to skip over the rest of Lorien, and make another time warp. I**_'_**m sure you won**_'_**t be sorry to be one step closer to the goodness! :D**_

_**Anyways, enjoy, and please, please, **__**please**__** review! :)**_

_**And a HUGE thanks to all my previous reviewers; **__**Azalia Fallen**__**, Fundin, **__**windofawhisper**__**, **__**hailsxx**__**, **__**Demonic-Dragon-Eyed-Chick**__**, Kate, **__**browncow01**__**, **__**Roranon**__**, Summer, **__**hornofgondor2**__**, **__**dangrgurl7283**__**, **__**SSJKarigan**__**, **__**Valinor's Twilight**__**, **__**Liliesshadow**__**, **__**dimari**__** and **__**Gaslight**__**!**_

_**I love you all so much! Thank you so so **__**so**__** much! :)**_

_**As always, a huge thanks to my beta, Gaslight!**_

_**Anyways, Enjoy!!!!!!! :)**_

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The swift motion of the water was nostalgic in its beauty, the cool clear liquid rushing through her outstretched hand, its soothing power washing away months of sorrows past. It flowed loudly, crashing against the heel of the small boat, its burden heavy in the water though it ploughed along, unchanging in its destination. Miles upon miles of barren riverbanks fell before them, eerie in their silence and dead of all life, breathing or of the earth. And though the scenery changed little as it swept past, it was mesmerizing nonetheless.

Vivienne wearily ignored the grating ache in her back and knees from hours hunched and cramped within the small craft, crammed uncomfortably between mountains of luggage. She was silent, as were the banks, her eyes hazy and her heart heavy. While the knowledge of the danger that lurked just beyond her sight had not been lost to her, it had been numbed, too far gone in her own wretchedness was she to feel fear any longer. And though the weather was warm and the cloak about her shoulders heavy, she shivered as she remembered the company's near final meeting with the one whose dark presence would not fade from her mind.

_"You cannot stay here," Galadriel spoke, her tone cold and grave. "The enemy is growing in power, our borders becoming further unprotected and under-guarded as he tightens his grasp. I will not risk my people for something that cannot be stopped," she continued, harsh and ominous. "You must leave this place, and never return. The winter of Lothlorien has fallen for the final time; it will not be seen again on this earth, and neither shall its spring if you remain any longer. You must leave before the month's dimming moon."_

Her words of cold malice remained heavy in Vivienne's heart and ears, echoing fruitlessly, nothing but a painful reminder of the fact that nowhere did she belong, and nowhere was she safe. Yet she could not find the will to feel fear or hatred; not when the river was so peaceful, and her mind so numb. She was now resigned, and long past caring.

"Cheer up, little girl," Boromir quipped, not unkindly, breaking the long drawn out silence of the boat. "Things are not always as bad as they may seem."

She turned her head back towards him, her body remaining motionless, piled atop the uncomfortable heap that covered the majority of the boat. She was unsure of what to reply, torn between gloom, trepidation and gratitude.

"If nothing else," he continued, "every moment is one farther from the witch."

Though he was right in his reasoning, Vivienne was apprehensive nonetheless. True, she was leaving Lothlorien far behind, a blessing and no doubt an even greater curse, but she was now more fearful than ever of where she was heading.

The only glimmer of light she held within her eternal darkness was Boromir's act of selfless kindness that, for the first time since she had known him, had brought her both comfort and hope.

_"This is unacceptable!" he raged at the Elf, taking no heed to the warning looks and pleading words for silence he received, as she announced Vivienne_'_s fate. "You force her here, against our better judgement, simply to toss her out into the wilderness like a vagabond! This is absurd! You would rather hand her over to the enemy than risk protecting her and the token which she carries? Now I see the truth – the wisdom of the Elves has not fallen into folly! Long ago was it already taken and replaced by this madness!"_

_"And Gondor wishes to instead take upon her heavy burden as its own?"_

_"If need be," he raged, "then yes! Strong men will not so easily be broken!"  
_

And thus her fate had once more been sealed, without her knowledge or consideration, and once more she was apprehensive and fearful of the resolution.

And she was far from happily compliant.

Instead, she was apprehensive, and for good reason. She was no fool; she knew Boromir held no great love for her, nor her for him, though something of a mutual understanding had been met between the two. They were far too many worlds apart to ever meet on middle ground, but perhaps a bridge could yet still be formed; one strong enough to link them together without animosity, if even for a little while. The hope was little, but it was there. And for now Boromir had been able to rise above his own feelings of her obvious inferiority and offer her a haven. She only prayed there she would be more welcome in Gondor than in Lothlorien, though it seemed unlikely.

Boromir had barely and only recently found the will to tolerate her, and she feared what the others of his people would think. There was no doubt that Boromir – no matter how deep hidden – contained if not kindness, then at least some deal of amiability when his nerves were not so badly frayed; yet the prospect of spending time with so many of his carbon copies – or even worse, the very intimidating original, made her far from eager to go there.

And though words could not express her gratitude towards him for his actions, a feeling of dread was growing in the pit of her stomach as every moment passed. She had not missed the queer look in his eyes as they had travelled, not hours yet from Galadriel's haunted woods, nor had she forgotten the manufactured smile that even then had appeared as a façade.

Glancing at the Ring, hidden far from sight and many yards ahead even still, she could feel its steady and daunting pull, becoming demanding in its perseverance. She would be damned to think she was the only one who felt its persistence, the eyes of all around it darkening with lust and greed. It was far from difficult to read the thoughts of those who wished to consume it. Even if Galadriel had forced her out, she brooded, the enemy may not yet all be gone.

"Mark my words, girl," Boromir ploughed along in his speech, pulling Vivienne away from her thoughts, insistent in his need for distraction, though she did not know why. "You will find great solace during your stay in Minas Tirith. The men of Gondor are much more giving in their gifts of hospitality than their Elven counterparts. No doubt when the hearty fires and strong wines have consumed you, you will forget all about your past troubles – their pull has not failed me yet."

She watched him skeptically, though after many moments of long silence, deduced his motives to be true.

"I'm sure I'll love it," she responded softly, relaxing her tense muscles and gazing back into the deep pools of water that surrounded them. Her arm remained submerged in its depths, its waves frolicking and splashing across the now fading burns. She paused for several long moments, a lump of trepidation caught in her throat before speaking.

"Thank you."

"For what?" he replied light heartedly.

"You know what," she answered quietly. "Taking me with you – taking me in."

"Bah," he replied offhandedly, giving a wide gesture with his hand that seemed even more wildly out of character than his apparent merriness. "'Twas nothing."

"No, it wasn't nothing," she spoke again, watching his odd behaviour with less disbelief than his false words. "It was everything. If you hadn't of looked out for me, Galadriel would have shipped me off back to God-knows where. You saved my life," she confessed earnestly. "Again."

"As I said, it was nothing. The innocent should not suffer for that Enchantress' folly, and the men of Gondor do not so easily abandon the weak and needy. Even if the Elves have given up their honour, the men of my people will not so easily be beaten down. We do not abandon women and children to the eternal fate and darkness. The enemy is already at our door-steps; there is little more that he can do to us now."

She mulled his words over silently, aware of both the sacrifice Boromir was making - certainly a forfeit she had not earned - and the fact that even in Gondor she was not safe. How could she be, when even Galadriel had deemed her too great a risk to remain?

"Is it always this quiet?" she asked, aimlessly changing the subject, watching the swiftly flowing coast and the two boats surrounding them. She was envious of them - both filled to the brim with chatting, merry souls.

"Come again?"

"The river," she clarified. "Is it always this quiet?"

"Yes and no," he replied slowly. "As for where we stand now, I cannot tell you - few of my people have been inclined to wander this far upstream, but as for my knowledge of what flows down through Gondor, yes. Tranquility is not something this river has ever lacked, though we have had to guard her more closely over the years."

"What for?"

"Anything unlooked for that may try to encroach upon us by way of the sea."

"And the soldiers watch it?"

"No," he replied. "That duty belongs to the Rangers – my brother leads them."

"What, the dragon slayer?" she questioned irreverently, seeking lighter conversation and hoping to gain it though gentle prodding. It worked with the hobbits; with Boromir, she was not so sure.

Much to her surprise – and honest delight – he gave a small laugh of amusement. Not much more than a chuckle, but it was enough to relax and ease her mind once more. There were already enemies at enough gates; she didn't need one in her boat as well.

"Yes, the dragon slayer," he replied amusedly, before falling into comfortable silence once more.

"So why did we get stuck in the boat with all the luggage, anyways? " she asked lightly, breaking the silence as she motioned to the other far more crowded, yet still supremely more comfortable boats. "Do you think we're being punished for something?"

"Unfortunately, no," he answered blandly. "It is simply a matter of weight distribution. I am the strongest and most experienced boatman, and the packs are heavy and make it difficult to manoeuvre."

"And what about me?" she questioned. "Why did I get stuck here?"

He looked at her hard for a moment, before repenting on his words.

"Perhaps you were right – I think this boat was indeed my punishment, after all."

She smiled despite herself, her spirits gaining enough levity to allow her to laugh at her own expense – especially when it meant her only company might retain their jovial mood.

"I feel bad for causing all the re-arrangement, though."

"Bah," he mimicked again, brushing off her self-deprecating comments. "It makes no difference to anyone where they ride – it is just as uncomfortable either way."

"I guess..." she replied unsurely. "But still, I hate getting in the way even more than I usually do."

"From someone who has travelled far with you, take my word when I say it takes far more than boat re-packing to exceed your typical ability to hinder," he replied, obviously barely resisting the urge to snigger at her.

"Well, that's what my mom always said," she dead-panned, glowering ever so slightly at his obvious humour at the remark.

"I've been meaning to ask," she continued, wisely changing the subject. "What did Galadriel give you? Other than the cloak, I mean."

"A golden belt," he replied blandly, clearly not impressed. "I have finer."

"Well, La-dee-dah," she mocked good naturedly. "Aren't we special."

He chose not to comment.

"And you?" he asked, dipping his oar lazily into the water, a half-hearted attempt to propel the boat forward.

"A dagger," she bemoaned glumly, even less enthusiastic with her gift than Boromir, though her disappointment had nothing to do with his.

"Mmm," he grunted, obviously far from impressed.

"What?"

"Nothing," he lied.

"No, what?" she pushed.

"Well, I hardly deem it an appropriate gift for a woman," he snipped, his lips pressed together tightly.

"I was thinking more along the lines of hardly an appropriate gift for _me_, but whatever. At least we're on the same lines."

"I would not carry it, if I were you," he responded, obviously at least somewhat relieved at receiving no argument. "It is bad luck, and highly unnecessary, if you were to ask me."

"Well, I do kind of see her point," she replied, attempting diplomacy for once in her short life. "It is dangerous out here."

"And no less will it be for you, armed or not. There is little you can do with simply a dagger, trained in its uses or not," he answered truthfully. "For now, you had best leave your protection to those who are capable of it, and save yourself the risk of impalement," he continued, motioning to her burned arm pointedly. "And with your string of luck, it is not a far possibility."

She glanced at her arm silently, studying the thin, pink, fleshy skin, still healing and incredibly sore. She would willingly admit, when it came to grace, she was clearly lacking.

"I guess you're right," she conceded with a sigh, kicking her pack with her foot, intending to deal with the wretched thing later. "Weapons management is clearly not my strong suit."

"Never fear!" Boromir replied jovially, nodding approvingly and obvious pleased to her concession. "You are surrounded by mighty warriors," he continued confidently. "Should anything arise, we will not fail to protect you!"

"I hope so," she replied absent-mindedly. "Because I'll hold you to it."

"I am sure you will, little girl," he chuckled merrily. "I am sure you will."

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_**That's all!**_

_**Thanks for reading and please review!!! :D**_

_**Bye!**_

_**XOXO**_


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